From Across the Throne of Heroes
by Corvus no Genmu
Summary: One-Shot Series. The Holy Grail has become corrupted… controlled by the Evils of the World but there is enough of its core, of her original self, that retains, that remembers… That all rules are made to be broken… So let us witness the wondrous fractures of the Kaleidoscope…
1. The Red

**DISCLAIMER:** All copyrighted materials belong to their respected owners.

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**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** The Throne of Heroes where all whom transcend History and the World reside… From the common folk to they whom descended from the gods themselves, so long as their deeds, their very lives, become almost as legends to the inheriting generations that follow they become Heroic Spirits and thus earn a place of residency upon the Throne until such a time as they are summoned by whatever means calls for them. In these recent years, they answer to the call of the Holy Grail Wars and serve their Masters as Servants of distinctive Classes befitting them in death, as they would have in life. However, as many who bear witness to the wonders of the Kaleidoscope can attest, the Servants need not be limited to that particular World's History.

Now as I'm sure many of my readers are wondering, does this mean the end of my other series of one-shots, The Familiars of Zero? The answer to that can be summed up in two words. HECK NO. Like the Nostalgia Critic, I'm just taking a little break from the world of Halkeginia for a while, take a breather and be inspired once again as I had been all those years back when I first started, but it _will be back_. That being said, let's move on shall we?

Like its predecessor, From the Throne of Heroes is a series of one-shots featuring the ever-popular "what-if" scenario of Servants for the Grail Wars. However, unlike the many wonderful stories, this series will consist primarily of one new Servant per-story though I may do the occasional visit to the Carnival as it were as time goes on. There will be no order to the Servants or the Wars in which they take place though safe to say, the Fourth will be the most predominate of them. Why? Because the Fourth was the most awesome and offers the most opportunities to… cut loose… Heheheh…

* * *

Saber… masters of swords whose own legends often surpass beyond they who wield them. Lancer… wielders of spears, lances, any and all weapons that provide the extra reach that make striking them down all but impossible. Archer… the true masters of the long-range weaponry who possess such incredible strength of will that they virtually become their own masters. Rider… they who've mastered their mounts to such a degree that even upon their own feet they are a passing blur to untrained eyes. Caster… magicians, sorcerers, witches, and warlocks, they are the artisans of the magical arts, purveyors of spells and enchantments long lost to modern time and its scientific convention. Berserker… the mad dogs of war whose sheer physical might is rivaled only by their inhuman madness… Assassin… the shadow walkers who move silent and unseen by their victims until their blades are buried to the hilt in their heart.

Fourteen combatants in all, the seven Masters and the seven Servants whom they call forth from the Throne of Heroes to fight and kill to attain that which was named as the Holy Grail, that their wishes may be granted, one to the living and one to the dead. An absolute balance, a perfected measure of control… but a war is a war, and like all rules that have come before and like so many that will follow, they are broken.

Shattered.

Ignored.

Yet no higher price could be paid by the breaking of the simplest of rules for there, in the Holy Grail, existed something of… a loophole. Seven Masters and seven Servants, fourteen combatants in all. No more, no less.

Until the other classes were revealed… until one class was exploited.

Avenger… they whose lives were spent in the name of vengeance be it for themselves or others… It is not a true class, a substitute and nothing more. It was never meant to be used for few heroes of the past could fill the standard, and rare was it that the gifts of being an Avenger were welcomed. Summoned from frustration and slaughtered before the folly could be discovered, that which whom was called as Avenger was he who had, in life, been a sacrifice against all that is sin, all that is evil, all that is abhorrent of mankind. In his demise as a Servant, he had done what he had in life and so it was not the soul of an innocent, a soul of an avenging hero that was swept into the Holy Grail.

No.

What it was… what it is…

It is Sin.

It is Evil.

It is everything that mankind hates, loathes, and abhors about itself… all this and so much more was poured into the Holy Grail until that which it had been was no more. There was no holiness to this blackened Grail. The hellish monstrosity summoned forth by Avenger saw to that quite well. Yet… even in the deepest of darkness… there can be a spark, a tiny speck, of light that still shines, a soul willingly sacrificed so that a shared dream may together be realized.

The Grail has become corrupted… controlled by the Evils of the World but there is enough of its core, of _her_ original self, that retains, that remembers…

That all rules are made to be broken… and that Avenger is not the only class that can be called…

Ruler… they whom sat upon their thrones and pedestals as the people below looked up to them to follow their every word, their every command. This is a class that any royal might claim as their right but it is not reserved for these self-righteous and oft pretentious fools. No, it is the right of those who inspire faith, who inspire loyalty, who are led as much as they lead.

Saver… they whom are the saviors of mankind even, some would even say especially, in death. Messiahs each and every one of them for they are the holiest figures of mortal kind, chosen by Fate, guided by Destiny, and protected by the Almighty. This is a class whose place upon the Throne of Heroes is not on the throne proper but above it for if they are second only to He who is King of Kings. Their purpose, their design, for the Holy Grail Wars is to be the saving force when all else has failed, when the degradation has gone so far beyond redemption it would take only the living embodiments of purity, good, and all that is decent, to reform that which has become broken.

Yet what was left of the Grail proper could not make use of either of them. The Ruler is to be the judge, the overseer between the final four combatants for the wish and Saver… No, the corruption was too great, too much for the Calling to reach such a hero's ear…

But… there was one more to consider…

* * *

**_From Across the Throne of Heroes  
_**

By Corvus no Genmu

_"The Red"_

* * *

This was a foolish attempt. He knew this. He had no doubt that it would end in dismal failure and bitter disappointment but when one has no other options left but to try, no other hope left to covet, then even the most foolhardy of ventures are worth the risk of bitter defeat. The runes were carefully scribed upon the floor, a studious mixture of volcanic ash and his own blood. All that was left were the words and the reagent, which he doubted would actually work given its dubious origin but in the hell that was his life Before the End could he really question its validity?

He placed it carefully atop the altar before taking his place at the opposing side of the summoning circle. He bowed his head and considered once more the folly of this latest scheme. It was a chance discovery, an impossible idea, an inconceivable dream, but if it could work… if he became a participant in this competition, this "war"…

Then he could have his wish…

And the End would become a Beginning…

"You who sits upon the Throne of Heroes… if thou would lend thy power unto me… if thou would travel the same path to retribution as I… then hear my call and answer! I am the soldier of the forgotten… as much a monster as a man… My eyes are stained with the deaths of innocents, my hands the blood of the damned, and my soul by those whom I left behind… If thou art willing to stand beside such a miserable being… hear me and come forth!"

Nothing…

Not a spark, not a light.

Nothing.

And then the ground began to quake as fire burned unseen in the air… Light brighter than the exploding birth of a star blinded him but nothing to deafen him to the question asked of him.

**_I ask of you, are you my Master?_**

Words, emotions, intent… it didn't matter how his brain interpreted the unspoken tongue or the overwhelming vastness that was there and was not. The vast dining hall seemed almost miniscule, tight and small for the behemoth awaiting an answer that came with hope and without hesitation.

"Yes."

Crimson light flared across the back of his right hand, lines twisting and turning upon the pale flesh to carve an image composed of three parts that united made the vague impression of a reptilian claw.

Then, the oppressive presence and its overwhelming heat were gone as if they never were. But he could feel the tether, the chains that bound him to his Servant and the Servant to him. His latest foolhardy ploy, his childish scheme, a false hope to be unrealized…

It had worked.

It meant a lot of things. It meant that he well and truly had a chance for atonement, that there was magic here though it was not as he knew it to be, and that the words and curious glances held more to them than he had ever thought. That the accidents of his childhood were no longer unexplained and with this realization came an outburst.

"I'm a wizard…?"

* * *

They were at the pier.

Seven in all though only two were fighting…

Saber and Lancer…

He knew this the moment their duel had begun, even halfway across the city. It was his bane and his gift. A friend, a rare commodity he treasured more than his own life, had once jokingly referred to him as "The One Who Sees" in reference to this gift and the fact the original bearer of the title, fictional though he was, bore such an opposing disposition that the only similarities that could be found was in that which made them stand separate and alone.

He sees but not with a mystical eye. He knows but he has no idea. He understands yet he rarely comprehends. That's how he had always been even before he had been Chosen. It was one of the reasons he had been selected really, to see the Truth where others could only see the Lies. It's how he knew to go to the abandoned mansion, how he found that one book in a library of thousands more of its ilk, how he managed to live while the others…

Well. That was the past and his eyes were looking to the future.

He arrived moments before Rider and his master did, using the overly dramatic entrance to mask his presence as he took a place amongst the shadows. He had seen the assassins and the Servant who defined that class. He had nothing to fear of the mages but the Servant Assassin was… wrong. A fragment, a piece that could attack as a swarm and overtake him if he wasn't prepared to committing enough property damage that even the best of these magi couldn't mask from the mundane.

So he stood in the shadows.

So he watched.

As the Rider descended from the Heavens on a chariot of lightning and proclaimed himself fully to the world and invited both combatants to join him on his conquest for the Holy Grail as his companions but also as his underlings. He listened to the refusals of the Lancer and the Saber, both stating with pride their stances in this life. He winced as the Rider shouted once more to the heavens that any and all Servants and Masters watching in the darkness step forward lest they earn the scorn of the King of Conquerors.

He worried that his Servant found amusement in the Rider's words but did not rise to the bait as another did.

Archer.

No…

His eyes narrowed and he saw the man beneath the legend as he had with Saber and Lancer.

Gilgamesh…

He listened to the golden Servant's boasts on his regality, his reign from the heavens above the lowly peons who dare to label themselves as kings in his presence. The Rider did not help to make the situation better by bringing forth the fact that none of those present on the open grounds knew the Archer for who he was.

He watched as the golden lights circles open wide behind the Archer as he declared that the penalty of their ignorance would be their deaths. Weapons emerged from the rippling portals and as he had come to know of the Archer, so too did the hidden Master discover the golden king's Noble Phantasm for what it was.

The Gates of Babylon opened wider as the ancestral weapons of those founded in legend took aim. The weapons were nameless, each and every one of them, but far more powerful than what they would become for these were the legends at their highest potential and they carried it from sharpened point to smooth hilt. Such was the nearly limitless potential of these weapons that even the slightest of contact upon their target would result in an explosive force great enough that the hidden Master wondered if now was the time to interrupt.

Too bad that somebody had beaten him to the punch.

Shadows twisted and turned upwards and remained as a ethereal cloud around the armored form of the Berserker but even with this darkness so strong, so powerful as to be a Noble Phantasm in its own right, he saw the knight beneath the shadows, the man beneath the legend and even in the presence of that man's sworn and betrayed "king" did the Master feel himself breathless once more but not merely out of surprise.

For he was not the only one to recognize the Berserker for whom he was… who he had been… and what he had done…

It started as a low growl but to those unawares of its origin it could very well have been thunder to their ears. Then, it rose in volume until there was no mistaking the hellion roar for what it was and even the golden clad Archer could not refrain from dismissing away the Gates of Babylon from the overwhelming _fury_ that came with such a sound. Those weak-of-heart and weaker minded fell blissfully into the catching embrace of unconsciousness while those of steely resolve and burning passions of their own at least maintained the dignity of wakefulness though it was only they whom are blessed by the arts of magic, practitioners or creations-of it did not matter, who did not immediately collapse from the echoing tide.

In fact, of those present only two remained, for the most part, largely unfazed.

Berserker was already moving, leaping up seemingly in an attack for Archer but instead used the Golden Servant as a shield between him and the onslaught of fire that came surging forth after the Black Knight. There was no preparing, no escaping, such a sudden assault of flames that burned so hot that they blazed white at their edge and stunning blue in their center.

A massive shadow fell as something moved through the open air, tracking the fleeing speck of blackness with a burning trail of fire as the winds kicked up the smoke and ash away from the flapping of enormous wings. The earth shook as the originator of the hellion roar and equally hellish fires landed where the King of Heroes had once stood boasting his superiority above his fellow monarchs. The molten scrap molded to claws longer than a man is tall as a tail large and imposing with its spaded tip swung with clear displeasure made all the more apparent by the vicious sneer of fangs on the reptilian's snout. Crimson scales gleamed like bloodied rubies in the artificial lights whilst the pale spotlight of the moon highlighted the fury of amber orbs as the glared into the shadows, smoke trailing through clenched jaws as the furnace of innards stoked the fires to their full intensity and made bright the massive neck with its warm glow.

But Berserker was gone, retreated with his barely conscious Master carried tightly in his arms for even in the depths of his madness, the Black Knight remembered his own experiences with beasts such as what slain Archer in his stead and though he was by no means an apprentice in the art of slaying such monsters from the world he knew from such experience that his Master would not survive the battle to be had between him and the impossibly summoned Servant.

The Beast.

The smoke wafted away completely, the furnace dying to the softer embers of a mundane flame. He who stunk of blood and betrayal was gone and much as the desire to make an intended kill rather than one of incidence, finding such an insect in a hive was only going to lead to further frustrations and annoyances.

Speaking of…

Amber eyes narrowed before the triangular spade of the Beast's tail whipped forth through the air and brought the nearby crane down with a crashing of steel girders. Fangs flashed forward and bit down upon something which screamed bloodied murder before it was permanently silenced with a bone-breaking crunch and the remains spat down upon the ground between the Beast and the remaining Servants.

Assassin's head rolled forward until the skull of his mask was staring up at the Rider's grim face. He glanced back down at his master and saw that the boy had collapsed, from shock or the sheer enormity of the monster's presence. The Lancer was tense on the Rider's right, gripping both spears tightly in his hands. He couldn't move to retrieve his Master and flee lest he draw the monster's attention upon the man who wisely remained silent and did not dare draw the Beast's attention by ordering his Servant to take him and flee.

Truly it was a wise thing for the man to have soiled himself shortly before falling unconscious.

It gave him a reason for a change of clothes if nothing else.

From their hidden perches amongst the towering stacks, master and apprentice remained still as the dead and breathed just the same. Both were not unfamiliar in the ways of magic though neither could be claimed or considered as proper practitioners of the craft. Both had met and conversed with a living legend but it was a legend that did not live up to their inbuilt expectations, the dreams and imaginations of a childhood where the legends seemed as factual history of a forgotten past.

This?

This was everything those stories said and more for this did not meet their expectations but shot them down and ground them into dust, particularly in the eyes of the stand-in Master of Saber who was doing a marvelous impression of a guppy, cuteness and all. As for the Saber herself…

Were it in her possession, she'd have returned her blade to its sheathe. Were she not in the presence of enemy Servants and already sporting a major injury upon her left wrist the Saber would have dismissed her weapons and armor alike in the presence of this Beast for just as she had recognized the Lancer by his legend so too did she know this Beast through his.

Rather, through hers.

Amber met emerald as an ancient beast gazed upon a young royal. One was clearly a monster's gaze, inhuman and ravenous in its intensity and the other, while human, contained the same semblance of power for theirs was a shared bond betwixt destiny and fate. Yet now, centuries past the time in which they made their marks in history and legend, is when they should meet. It might have been a moment, it may well have been several minutes, either way the staring contest was won by he who looked away with disdain from she whose eyes carried more than her soul in its evergreen depths.

The tapping of wood and footsteps knocked gently upon the sacred silence instilled by the Beast's full emergence into the Holy Grail War but it was the voice of the Beast's Master who shattered it fully.

"I suppose that we all should be grateful that you didn't deem it necessary to swallow, eh?" The Master stood beneath the shadows of a half-spread wing so while the details were lost there was no missing how much he favored his left side or the cane he leaned upon. His glasses, which seemed a size too large upon his face, gleamed in the light and his smile was a touch mad as he looked upon the remaining Servants in turn until his gaze fell upon the Rider. He bowed his head with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry but as enticing an offer as it is to fight under your banner, I'm afraid that neither my Servant or I would bow our heads to you, King of Conquerors."

Rider blinked twice before he roared with laughter. "You are more than I expected from the Master of such a Servant!" He chuckled as he shook his head. "At least I can claim an interesting night out of this."

The Master of the Beast shook his head. "As I said, we will not bow to you but I never said that alliances were out of the question. We have seen for ourselves that the death of Assassin was more than a slight exaggeration on Archer's part, and there is Caster to consider, but that's a conversation for another night with less… excitement shall we say?"

He turned away and started once more for the shadows but paused. He did not turn back but there was a small twitch of movement, the slightest glance out the corner of an eye. What he saw confused him but as much as he wanted to inquire he held tightly to his parting words. The night's excitement was great enough and he needn't add to it with accusations of the Saber's status as…

Well, that was a topic for another night.

* * *

He admired the stonework of the castle. He had a thing for them, a passion really, for such places that brought to mind the fairy tales of his youth. Though given recent experiences he supposed that calling them mere tales was hardly fitting… but that was neither here nor there. At the moment, he was enjoying an amusing show between two Servants who still remained the rightful Kings that they had been in their legends long past. To be fair, most of the amusement came from their respected Masters. The Rider's young master looked torn between having a nervous breakdown being in the middle of enemy territory and throttling a man who could easily break him like a toothpick. The Saber's… stand-in was probably the nicest title he could use for her, looked torn between being confused and angry at the red-haired Servant and the meek Master who had supposedly supplied the Rider with the funds to afford a barrel of wine.

Speaking of, he'd best make his presence known before his own Servant does so for them both.

"If this is to be a dialogue rather than a war, I admit to my own interest though I must question your reasoning King of Conquerors." The Master of the Beast stepped forward from the shadows of a nearby archway. He smiled with eyes closed to the shock and horror that his revealed presence brought forth to those unexpected of his arrival and of his true appearance. "After all, if the Grail were to fall to the hands of royalty then it would have summoned seven kings instead of three."

In the open as he was, there was no hiding the young man, a boy barely into the full cusp of adulthood really, that was the Master of the Beast. His smile was a mask of cheerfulness and his glasses gleamed brightly, hiding the pained winces found in weary brown eyes. He favored his right side as he walked, putting much of his weight on his cane as he walked with carefully measured steps. He was dressed plainly without any distinction of his rank among the magi and in a crowd of the mundane he'd easily have been lost were it not for the scars. Burns by the looks of them, that covered most of his left arm and went up to just beneath his eye on the same side.

The Master of the Beast stood beside and between the two Servants and struggled with sitting himself down, moving an uncooperative limb aside by way of his cane until a hand gripped him gently by the arm.

Whether it was the shock of his appearance, both physical and sudden, it came as no small surprise to the younger Master to find himself with the shockingly soft hand of the Servant Saber assisting him to his seat on the ground. Though sore that he had to be helped at all, the Master did not keep silent his gratitude and spoke them with a soft whisper.

"Why have you come here, Master of the Beast?" asked Saber, keeping her grip upon his arm.

"Arthur."

Saber blinked. "What?"

"My name." The Master of the Beast clarified with a self-depreciating smile. "It's Arthur. Arthur L. Kuromori." He pulled his arm free from her lax grip and answered the unspoken question. "Hardly coincidence I think, meeting the very person I was named after but then there is no such thing as coincidence is there…?" He shook his head. "As to why I'm here, well, this is to be a Grail Dialogue yes?"

"That it is boy," agreed the Rider, presenting a cup of wine to Arthur with a smile. The Master of the Beast took it with a nod of thanks and took a small swallow and grimaced. The Rider laughed heartily at the sight. "Too strong for you?"

"Hardly. Too weak." Arthur looked upwards. "Would you be so kind as to spare one of your acquisitions?"

Single eyebrows were raised before the twins shot up to meet them as the Beast raised his head up from outside the castle walls. Amber eyes glared down not upon the humans but the opened barrel of wine. A disdainful snort of ashen smoke expressed the Beast's opinion of the drink. The Beast stood upright and reached over the castle wall to drop a barrel of his own, its top already torn free with the liquid concoction within set aflame at its center.

Rider, deciding that tasting the wine presented by a dragon was far more prudent than asking such ridiculous questions like where the Beast had acquired it or had said Beast kept appearing out of nowhere with little evidence of being Astralized beforehand. Not one to do anything halfway, the Rider took not a small sip but a large gulp of the warmed wine and found himself wondering just when the world had decreed it necessary to tilt slightly upon its axis.

"This… is excellent wine!" He exclaimed jubilantly and proceeded to pour several cups for everyone no matter that they refused to remain in place on the ground. "Your Servant has fine tastes boy!"

Arthur smiled but didn't give away the joke hidden in the Rider's words as he took a small sip of his cup. "Only the finest of wines would satisfy his palette, believe me. Too bad that possessing such fine spirits is not a prerequisite to attaining the Grail eh?" He chuckled, his cheeks slightly red.

Perhaps a sip was too much to take after all.

"While I don't deny that this fine drink deserves an equally fine vessel from which to drink," said the Rider, "the Grail is not a drinking cup. First, you'll have to tell us the scale of your wish for the Grail."

"The scale of my wish?" Arthur repeated, his grip tight upon his cup. He smiled and like before, it was an empty thing, devoid of any happiness. "I'm afraid you'll have to provide an example Rider if either Her Majesty or I are to weigh our wishes properly."

To his surprise, Arthur found himself with an embarrassed Rider who took another long drought of wine before he answered. "True incarnation."

"What?" The Saber started in surprise though her outburst was a quit whisper to the startled shout of the Rider's master who ran forward to shake the larger man's shoulder.

"What?! Hey, wasn't your goal supposed to be world conquest—Urk!"

Arthur was impressed. He doubted any other man could attain such distance with the flicking of a finger to the younger man's head.

"Idiot. What's the point of having some drinking cup conquer the world for me? Conquest is a dream I'll entrust to myself. All I want from the Grail is the first step of that process. Even if mana gives us form in this world we still ultimately remain as Servants. I want to be firmly rooted to this world as a living human." The Rider clenched his fist tight, no one noticing Arthur's eyes flicked over to the Saber for a second in time. "And with a body of my own I shall defy both Heaven and Earth. _That_ is what the act of conquest is about. It is how it begins, proceeds, and is finished. Such is my path of conquest."

"Defiance of Heaven and Earth…" Arthur mused, his fake smile small and almost gone as he took a drink.

"That's not how a king should be." Saber stated.

"Oh? Let us hear what you wish for then," said the Rider.

"I wish for my homeland's salvation. With the omnipotent wish-granting device I shall avert Britain's fate of destruction."

Arthur didn't speak, didn't gape, he only stared with narrowed eyes upon the King of Knights as though she was the most disgusting thing he had ever seen and now, with her declaration, she truly was as such in his eyes. He might not possess a gift of words but given what he had already seen of her it wasn't hard to put the pieces of the puzzle together and the image they created was certainly not befitting the King of Knights. "You… _That_ is why you made the deal? _That_ is the bargain you struck to be here not as you should but as you are?"

The Saber's eyes widened in surprise but Arthur was far from finished as he pushed himself up on shaking legs and trembling arms not from pain but from simmering rage.

"You… would lay down everything that you are, everything that you have been, and everything that you continue to be… just so that you won't exist? So that the life you lead, the victories and the defeats would be laid at another's feet, and the blame and the praise could be placed upon another's shoulders? I had expected the King of Conqueror's wish, the wish of a man whose legend was cut far too short but I respect that he does not desire to start anew where his story ended but to craft another legend here, now, at the beginning rather than at the end."

He was advancing upon her and though she knew not what her body was doing without her conscious thought, she was retreating from him because just as what Arthur saw in Arturia so too did she see something, _someone_, she had known in life. A bumbling old coot of a mage but the dearest of friends and one whom she had seen angry, truly angry, once before and it was the sight of a similar rage that made her the mouse instead of the lion.

"You are a dreamer, Arturia Pendragon!" snapped Arthur, using the Saber's name rather than her titles. "A dreamer who dreams of rest rather than adventure! You dream of being forgotten, of oblivion whilst my own Servant dreams of living! Of being awake rather than asleep as you clearly are!"

The Saber's eyes widened, pinpricks in globes of white. "Impossible. How can—"

"Once, I had a title of my own. Once, I was jested by friends and allies as being _the One Who Sees_ and what I see here before me is not a Saber and most certainly not a king. What I see before me is a little girl who dreamt herself a King of Knights and now tired of the dream wants not awaken from it but to banish it away as though it never was! What I see…" He sighed, and seemed to collapse upon himself, putting all of his weight upon his cane as he leaned forward on trembling legs. "A bigger mess than I realized." He looked up at the shadows of the castle walls. "I admit my surprise, I did not think that I warranted so much attention."

"What?" The question, amazingly, came from the Master of Rider, which earned a small smile from the Master of the Beast in response. Trust the Master of the brashest of Servants would manage to keep his wits about him.

"Though the shadows aid you, the darkness is far from your ally. Come out, all of you. I want them to see how many Assassins it would take to kill a crippled monster." Arthur called out and in answer the Assassins emerged from the unnatural shadows. One, then three, then seven, and the numbers kept growing until well near a hundred stood throughout the ramparts and castle walls.

The Masters moved to stand close to their Servants though only the Saber had taken invisible sword in hand. Rider, still in his casual attire, was amicable as ever as he raised a filled cup to the crowd of Assassins.

"Now, don't hold back! Those who'd speak with us, come forth and take a cup with us! This drink is as your blood!"

A dagger shattered the cup on its way to impalement on the ground just beside Arthur. The wine spilled over the Rider's shoulder in a large red stain and to his credit, the Servant didn't even flinch as he glanced down at his ruined shirt.

Oppressing silence.

Unnatural stillness.

Which meant only one possible thing.

"… Shit." Arthur muttered.

"I did say this drink is as your blood. If you insist on spilling it… So be it." The wind roared in a tight tornado around the Rider who was now no longer in appearance a muscular and boisterous man but a muscular and boisterous King of Conquerors. "Pay close attention Saber! It looks like I will have to show you how a king truly stands!"

The small spark of light that Arthur had seen in the Rider's heart expanded outwards, swirling and twirling as it gained greater magnitude until all who stood upon the castle grounds had been absorbed into its shining depths. Yet it was not a place upon which the gathered found themselves though it could be assumed as such as it did appear every bit the magnificently large desert. No, it was the crystallization, no, it was the _realization_ of the Rider's very soul. Everything that he was, everything that he is, and everything that he could still be was now grafted into reality itself, but to put it in the simpler terms of the magi…

"A Reality Marble…" whispered Irisviel. "Unbelievable…"

Arthur admitted his own disbelief to himself as he eyed the unspotted and unconscious form of his Servant who somehow still managed to cling to an emptied barrel of wine here in this realized reality of the soul. He knew of the rare and often exploited weakness of dragons but had hoped that given his legend, the Beast would have proven far stronger in that regard.

_Or it could be because of that very legend he has that weakness at all…_ thought Arthur. _After all, was that now he and his rival were imprisoned in the first place?_ He looked back towards the approaching army of Alexander the Great and smiled. _I guess we can sit this one out…_

And so he did, standing back and watching as the boisterous Servant proclaimed his own magnificence as his army of thousands of heroes surged forth and overtook the band of Assassins in a massive tidal wave of steel. Many of the manifestations of the Assassin tried to run but where was there to run from the soul of a King? Yet, there remained one standing, not in defense or even attack but in acceptance. Perhaps it was her who was the True Assassin or perhaps she was simply the most sensible of them. In the end, it didn't matter for she died just the same as all the rest though perhaps with the honor in having the King of Conqueror behead her with his own blade.

Then, it was over and the blinding desert day was returned once more to the heart that carried it and the castle night resumed its reign in the midnight hours. Arthur took one last drink of wine as he felt the Beast stir outside the castle walls, awake and mildly confused. Sending a silent promise of explanation, the Master of the Beast set his cup down and turned away from the rest of the gathered Servants and their Masters.

"I think I've said all that need be said this night… but no, I suppose there's something else I should say." Arthur looked heavenward. "I came here to find out for myself whether I would find remorse in killing the two of you. That in some way your wish or those of your Master's could possibly outweigh my own. I was wrong and I was right. I respect your wish to start anew in this life rather than what you were before, King of Conquerors so my Servant and I will face you as you faced the Assassins, at your strongest or not at all."

The Rider's face was unnaturally calm but he nodded all the same, a small smile tugging unseen at the corner of his lip.

"As for you." Arthur didn't even deign to look at her but there was no question as to whom he was referring. "Six billion, nine hundred seventy three million, seven hundred thirty eight thousand, four hundred and thirty three."

"What?"

"That is the weight of my wish. It's the same wish as your Master's own." Arthur looked to Irisviel and the pale-haired homunculus knew that though he was looking at her, he was speaking to her husband. Even so, she tilted her head in confusion, as pain seemed to well up in the younger man's eyes as he gazed upon her and wondered to herself why he had flinched when he first set his eyes upon her. "The only difference I suppose between us is in the context." He bowed to her. "May your remaining days be good to you as you deserve, Miss von. No, I'm sorry, Mrs. Emiya."

"What—How—?" Irisviel tried to stop him, to try and spot him from the darkness but she had not the same eyes as he and though she thought him gone by way of magic she had no clue to the truth. That Arthur was merely leaning against the opposite side of the wall, tears falling from his eyes as he pressed a hand against his face.

"For him… She's killing herself for him." He whispered, seeing another woman's face in place of the Lady Irisviel's own, blood trailing from her heartfelt smile from the joy that he would live even as she would not. "Damn it…"

* * *

He had to give credit where credit was due. He had thought that the Caster would make a grandstand out of his final fight in the War and the madman certainly overfilled that quota. He hadn't expected a man with no real claim of power, no real legend beyond his treachery to his Lady, to command the power necessary an eldritch abomination straight from the depths of whatever pit of damnation spawned it. He stood back in the shadows of the shore, unseen even by the keen eyes of the Lancer by simple fact that the Heroic Spirit had not turned his eyes away from the abomination making headway through the river towards sustenance and, ultimately, full realization into this world.

**_Will you not fight?_**

His hand clenched the top of his cane tightly. Though they were not words spoken or heard, he understood the intentions, the instinctual methods behind the mind of his Servant.

_It is not a matter of will… Not anymore._ He had seen how little harm came from the Rider's lightning, had witnessed the cleaving of tentacles by the invisible sword of the Saber, and had watched as burns were wiped clean and sliced limbs regrew in the blinking of an eye. The power to end this battle… was not his to command. It never was, not even then when he had earned the right when no one else could. So the Master closed his eyes to the world and begged of his Servant to cast forth his flames once more.

The answer was hardly unexpected. **_What do I gain in the helping of humans? What do I acquire in the aiding of children?_**

His own, he sincerely hoped, was not so expected. _Recognition._

Silence.

So he continued, _There upon the shore, are people, mundane the whole lot of them, but they hear it, they see it, and they know it for what it is. Yet they cannot see the man who rides the lightning or the girl wielding the air as her steel. But they will see you. They will recognize you. They will know that the Age of Gods lives still if not in the World then in its People. They will see you as you are and they will whisper the name of your People with reverence and fear._

Silence still.

Then the air was rent by a legend's roar. The wind blew as a gale beneath massive wings, which carried forth a crimson Beast to the heavens to soar with primordial grace upon the air. Fangs revealed their ferocity with a hellish light before that light came gushing forth in the form of flames. A stream of dragon's fire flew down and burned all that it touched, the river water ignited as their bloodied cargo became like sin and was vanquished just the same. The tentacles were not so much burnt as they were ignited and ruptured as unbelievable heat met flesh unaccustomed to the temperatures beyond that found in dismal pits of watery graves. The body of the abomination _screamed_ as its flesh was vaporized down to its core yet whereas the tentacles were lost completely, the remains of the flesh quivered in their futility to heal before the next onslaught of fire could rain down once more.

Salvation came to the abomination in a most unexpected interruption.

"Berserker…" whispered Arthur, startling the Lancer and Irisviel with his presence as he stepped up to stand beside them at the shore, his gaze locked on twin motes of light shining in the sky above the battlefield. The Beast twisted in midair and dodged as one light was caught and devoured by the abomination. It screamed as new tentacles ruptured free from its body but the burns remained unchanged. It would need far more than the body of a single man to manifest its full potential.

Much more…

The second mote of trailing light gained a purplish tint as darkness enveloped its entirety in a physical shroud and reddened veins of blood pumped beneath metallic flesh. In life, it had been a McDonnell Douglas F-15 Eagle, a fighter jet like any other of its breed but in the grasp of the Black Knight, of the Berserker who fought under Someone's Glory and bore a Knight of Honor, it had become a part of a legend and so was no longer a mere machine.

It had become enchanted.

And by the Berserker's will, it became almost alive as twin engines roared their fury, carrying the blackened steel through the air and twisting about in a tight circle as it spat forth a storm of bullets in a long trail first across a score of tentacles that were unfortunate enough to be in the way, past the startled and soon confused Saber, and upwards to their real target. Bullets that were admittedly only semi-capable of piercing the thickest of armor made up for this weakness by being highly explosive upon contact.

Yet even enchanted bullets did little more than bring the attention of the Beast away from the abomination.

The Berserker soared past, crimson visor meeting amber eyes for the briefest of moments, and then it was soaring heavenward before twisting back for another pass. Missiles flew from beneath steel wings and the Beast did not so much run as make use of the equally massive and stupidly flailing form of the abomination. Enormous wings flapped with gale producing force before the inferno was unleashed in blazing balls that shot forth and left a burning trail through the air as they shot past closer and closer to their twisting and winding target.

The Beast twisted sharply, fangs biting and just missing the F-15 as it shot past. He fell upon the bridge and took roost at its highest point with wings tucked in tight only to suddenly unfurl them with a roar that set forth a stream of dragon's fire across the river, splashing over the top of the towering abomination, and further still. A roar almost inhuman in its ferocity but still produced by a human voice and intentions, answered the call and charged forth on wings of steel.

No one could understand what was occurring, for most either had absolutely no idea and those few that were in the know only had the most vague of ideas. No, only the Master of the Beast knew what the Berserker had done, what the abomination could not achieve even if it was to reach full realization into this material plane. The ancient tales of knights and dragons were not forgotten and the actions of the Berserker were deeply modernized, it followed the same ancient formula of yesteryears. The knight had cast forth a challenge to a dragon, but such a fight was made worse not by the classifications of the Servants. What did it matter, their classes when it was they who were the force of reckoning on this battleground? Berserker or Beast, knight or dragon, it did not matter when one saw deep beneath the masks and saw them for who they were.

Lancelot of the Lake as the Blackened Knight of Camelot, the Betrayer of King Arturia, the Berserker of the Holy Grail War…

Against Y Ddraig Goch as the Red Dragon of Wales, the Benefactor of King Arturia, the Beast of the Holy Grail War.

And knowing this, Arthur L. Kuromori, Master of the Beast, the One Who Sees had only one thing to say

"Well isn't that just fantastic…"

* * *

**Through the next gazing of the Kaleidoscope...**

_"The Insane"_

* * *

**Statistics:**

**Class:** Beast  
**Identity:** Y Ddraig Goch the Red Dragon of Wales**  
Basic Stats:**  
_Alignment:_ Chaotic Neutral  
_Noble Phantasms: _EX_  
Strength:_ EX  
_Endurance:_ A  
_Agility:_ C  
_Mana: _EX_  
Luck:_ D

**Class Skills:  
**_Independent Action:_ EX_  
Magic Resistance:_ B++  
_Presence Concealment:_ Unknown*

**Personal Skills:  
**_Battle Continuation: _A  
_Instinct:_ A  
_Monstrous Strength:_ EX  
_Prana Burst (Flames):_ A++  
_Draconian Dominium:_ A+++  
_The Standards of a Connoisseur (Spirits):_ A_  
_  
**Noble Phantasms:**  
_Suspension of Disbelief: Seeing is Believing:_ N/A  
_The Linked Chains of Agony: Mother Nature's Sympathy:_ A  
_Dragon's Breath: The Desecrating Flames of Ruin:_ A+

Exposition:  
**_Draconian Dominium:_** A+++  
Being one of the few dragons of legend who was not slain and instead lived for several centuries to be a body of prophecy that brought an even greater legend into being, Y Ddraig Goch is the most powerful example of his race and nigh immortal even with the strongest of modern and ancient magic. Only weapons with a long history of dragonslaying are capable of injuring him but to kill him would require a mortal blow made within the first five minutes of the battle's start otherwise victory is far from assured.

**_The Standards of a Connoisseur (Spirits):_** A  
Having impeccable tastes for only the finest of wines and other such alcoholic drinks, one cannot accept anything less than the finest of spirits. Due to his high rank Y Ddraig Goch is not only easily susceptible to being distracted by potent drinks but is fully capable of being knocked out after several barrels' worth of drink.

**_Suspension of Disbelief: Seeing is Believing:_** N/A**  
**An Anti-Unit Noble Phantasm possessed by all Phantasmal Beasts in the modern world. Variable in strength and power by the Phantasmal Beasts in question and the nature of those surrounding them. In the case of Y Ddraig Goch, mundanes cannot perceive him at all while Mages and Servants can but only so long as they are aware of his presence, or are in possession of Mystic Eyes. If he is hidden by some means or is not in their direct line-of-sight, his presence cannot be perceived even under the most direct of circumstances.

**_The Linked Chains of Agony: Mother Nature's Sympathy:_** A**  
**Like _Suspension of Disbelief_, it is a Anti-Army Noble Phantasm that is constantly active and is similar in nature to the Frankenstein Monster's own _Scream of the False Lifeform_ insomuch that its strength is variable by Y Ddraig Goch's injuries. At its weakest, it sends a pinnacle of matched pain to all whom hear it. At its strongest… plants wither, animals drop dead where they stand… and children are born still as stone…

**_Dragon's Breath: The Desecrating Flames of Ruin:_** A+  
An Anti-Army Noble Phantasm, _Dragon's Breath_ is, as its name implies, a blast of flames hot even to melt ordinary steel at its lowest temperature. The colors of the flames vary upon temperature and can be fired in either a stream exceeding a city block or condensed balls of plasma that can travel several miles and explode upon contact.


	2. The Insane

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* * *

Saber… masters of swords whose own legends often surpass beyond they who wield them. Lancer… wielders of spears, lances, any and all weapons that provide the extra reach that make striking them down all but impossible. Archer… the true masters of the long-range weaponry who possess such incredible strength of will that they virtually become their own masters. Rider… they who've mastered their mounts to such a degree that even upon their own feet they are a passing blur to untrained eyes. Caster… magicians, sorcerers, witches, and warlocks, they are the artisans of the magical arts, purveyors of spells and enchantments long lost to modern time and its scientific convention. Berserker… the mad dogs of war whose sheer physical might is rivaled only by their inhuman madness… Assassin… the shadow walkers who move silent and unseen by their victims until their blades are buried to the hilt in their heart.

Fourteen combatants in all, the seven Masters and the seven Servants whom they call forth from the Throne of Heroes to fight and kill to attain that which was named as the Holy Grail, that their wishes may be granted, one to the living and one to the dead. An absolute balance, a perfected measure of control… but a war is a war, and like all rules that have come before and like so many that will follow, they are broken.

Shattered.

Ignored.

Yet no higher price could be paid by the breaking of the simplest of rules for there, in the Holy Grail, existed something of… a loophole. Seven Masters and seven Servants, fourteen combatants in all. No more, no less.

Until the other classes were revealed… until one class was exploited.

Avenger… they whose lives were spent in the name of vengeance be it for themselves or others… It is not a true class, a substitute and nothing more. It was never meant to be used for few heroes of the past could fill the standard, and rare was it that the gifts of being an Avenger were welcomed. Summoned from frustration and slaughtered before the folly could be discovered, that which whom was called as Avenger was he who had, in life, been a sacrifice against all that is sin, all that is evil, all that is abhorrent of mankind. In his demise as a Servant, he had done what he had in life and so it was not the soul of an innocent, a soul of an avenging hero that was swept into the Holy Grail.

No.

What it was… what it is…

It is Sin.

It is Evil.

It is everything that mankind hates, loathes, and abhors about itself… all this and so much more was poured into the Holy Grail until that which it had been was no more. There was no holiness to this blackened Grail. The hellish monstrosity summoned forth by Avenger saw to that quite well. Yet… even in the deepest of darkness… there can be a spark, a tiny speck, of light that still shines, a soul willingly sacrificed so that a shared dream may together be realized.

The Grail has become corrupted… controlled by the Evils of the World but there is enough of its core, of _her_ original self, that retains, that remembers…

That all rules are made to be broken… and if an Avenger started this travesty…

Then let it be ended with one.

* * *

**_From Across the Throne of Heroes_**

_"The Insane"_

* * *

_You're only going to hurt yourself again you know._

That little voice of doubt tittered in the back corner where he had shoved it aside at the start of his latest, and likely most foolhardy, venture. He ignored it as he continued to work.

_So what if you saw for yourself the evidence of this War? So what if the possibility is there? That's all that it is you know, a possibility._

Finished with the last inscription, he carefully stepped into the circle's heart where a simple pedestal of ivory sat awaiting its treasure, its reagent to call forth into being his chosen Servant.

_She dead. She's not coming back to fight for you, to die for you._

_Not again._

He cradled the treasure tightly to his chest. He had no idea if the use of it would mean its vanishing from the world and he had nothing left of her to keep as a reminder besides the agonizing memories of happier times what few of them there were in a bloodied past. He reached out and let it fall gently upon the pedestal and took his place outside the ring of blood and ash.

_This will never work._

Bowing his head, he began. "You who dwells upon the Throne of Heroes… if you would walk down the same dusty road as I towards redemption… Then hear my voice call out to you and answer! I am as much a monster as a man… I am a savior of the forgotten… Mine are the hands stained by the blood of innocents I could not save, mine is the soul tainted by those I left behind, and mine is the heart eternally broken… If you would take such a miserable being as yours… Then hear me… and come forth!"

_… See? Nothing. What more could you—_

Light burned a crimson trail across the circle. A tornado burst upwards from the core of the inscribed star and tore asunder what books remained in the vacant room. A roar of thunder, a sudden tearing of the dimensions as time and space alike became as paper and were torn just as easily to allow entry a being long dead but alive again, stronger, better, and far more determined now then they had ever been in life. Then, it was over just as soon as it had begun.

_… Well shit._

It was the young woman he had hoped her to be but she wasn't at the same time. She bore the likeness, the same paleness of skin yet rosy of cheeks, the same darkness of ebony hair but the stunning brightness of emerald eyes, and she too bore the same sigil resting gently upon her breast but that was all that there was to her. Clothing aside, the woman that he had hoped her to be was not so broken as to be fixed… incorrectly. This woman was damaged and though repaired there was still a sharpened edge to her as she rested quietly upon the brink of salvation or damnation.

_Are you happy now?_

She spoke and he almost wept for the voice that was so much what he wanted to hear and was so wrong to listen to she who wasn't her. "I ask of you are, you my Master?"

_You've entered another war. Congratulations._

Hesitation didn't hinder him as he answered, "Yes."

_You get to fight. You get to kill. Best of all…_

Bloodied light shone across the back of his right hand, lines turning and twisting upon the visibile flesh of the limb to carve upon the image made of three distinct parts that together bore a disturbing similarity to a heart and fanged grin alike.

_You get the chance to die._

_Aren't you happy?_

_We most certainly are…_

* * *

_"If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is because everything would be what it isn't. And contrary-wise; what it is it wouldn't be, and what it wouldn't be, it would. You see?"_

* * *

He knew her.

There was no question at all of this. He knows her but yet he knew absolutely nothing about her. He knows her by her name and the history the story told time and time again when he maintained the blessed innocence of childhood. Hers was his most favored of tales, one that he had quite neatly memorized in its entirety and it was because of this that he knew her as she had been then, from the first glimpsing of her life in the cycle of dreams that he was warned of in the book.

He knew her.

_But you don't._

Something had happened to her, between the she of her story and the she of her present, something that broke her, shattered her, and came so very close to destroying her. He heard it in the way she spoke, the voice of sharp tongue and cynical if not downright morbid wit. He saw it in the way that her eyes would become almost as ice at the slightest flickering of flames, and how they'd become shocked when he displayed what should have been common courtesy and human decency. He didn't knew which disturbed him more, that such things were so rare for her that it was all but alien, or that he desired to meet whomever installed such traits in her and deal with them in the most agonizing of ways.

_She is not the one you wanted so do not pretend to care for her otherwise._

Oh but how he tried, dear Almighty God how he did try.

But she was alive.

What more reason did he need to care?

* * *

_"Now, I give you fair warning, either you or your head must be off, and that in about half no time! Take your choice!"_

* * *

"How dare you…"

The Berserker lived up to his Class in every sense of the word "madness". For only a mad person would dare to take a suicidal stance against the Archer who proclaimed himself the King of Heroes with bared hands. Only a madman would grasp the weapons not meant for his traitorous touch and claim them as his own. Only the insane would make the man who would stand atop the Pillars of Heaven and bring him down to earth.

"You're making me stand on the same ground as you? I, who belong among the heavens?! Your impudence has sealed your eternal doom! Nothing will remain of your corpse, mongrel!"

The glorious Gates of Babylon opened wide to its Keeper, a crack that allowed a sliver of its full magnificence to be seen upon the World. Weapons came forth from the rippling pools of light, countless in shape and purpose but none equal to the grandness that is to be their destinies. These nameless ones are greater for these were the weapons before their potential had been reached and so had no limit. These weapons were everything that they could ever be before their legends came to pass and should they clash against what they had become, the aged future would shatter against the newly forged steel of the past.

The Archer's feral scowl fell at the faintest of sounds and he spared his ruby eyes the sight of gazing upon the mongrels that dared to label themselves as kings in his presence. His gaze fell upon a trio of dice that slowly rolled to a halt just before his feet.

"What—"

Was all that the Archer had time to say as the Gates of Babylon met not their equal but their better as a gateway into the Ninth Circle of Hell itself opened its door to allow the passage of a natural denizen. An overseer of the damned, a being far from the top tier of Hell Kings but still quite deserving of the simpler title of Demon Lord. To call it a humanoid would be an insult to its pedigree though it fit the shape of one rather well. To say that it is large would be a bland truth as it was far from being a giant but what did size matter in this instance? The dice had been rolled, the call had been answered, and now presented before this Demon Lord of the Ninth Circle there was an enemy to defeat.

No.

There was _food to consume._

* * *

_"I always thought Unicorns were fabulous monsters, too! I never saw one alive before!"_

_"Well, now that we HAVE seen each other, if you'll believe in me, I'll believe in you."_

* * *

It could have been sixty-six seconds.

It could very well have been six hours.

If the results were any different it might have mattered but as it was, it truly didn't.

The Archer is dead by the unholiest of means.

The Master of the Rider was kneeling over the side of his Servant's chariot, dry-heaving the remains of his previous meals whilst the King of Conquerors himself was unnaturally grim-faced. The Lancer had watched at the beginning but he had long since turned away, his face hidden in shadows. The Saber was standing between the scene and her crying stand-in Master who was trying to tear away what she had witnessed from the recesses of her mind whilst the King of Knights remained stoic in the face of utter damnation. The Berserker was the only witness seemingly unaffected by the carnage and had turned a gleaming red visor to the shadows from whence the dice were rolled before turning that gaze fully upon the Saber.

His shoulders shook, the darkness rolling like a sea in the midst of a storm before he _howled_ like a beast and charged forth, taking up a piece of the sliced lamppost as his own. He brought it down prepared to meet the assured length of an invisible blade and, were he still capable of it, would have been surprised by the sudden appearance of butterflies followed by the roaring neigh of a horse before he was swatted out of the air like a fly and sent soaring through the midnight sky like a comet.

The interferer was a young woman, spry as a willow branch and barely taller than the Saber herself. Her brown locks of hair fell to just beneath her neck and her eyes, despite being that same stunning shade of emerald, were dark and ominous upon her pale face. Her dress was the attire of the Victorian age but warped by some mad fool's interpretation of the Age of Steam having a far higher standing in society. Her pinafore was made of leather and was tied into place upon her back by a ticking winged clock. She bore buckled fingerless gloves upon her hands that flowed up into the puffy shoulders of her black dress and from her neck hung a silver pendant, the Greek sigil for _omega –_ the end.

The Saber, far from concerned over who this girl was besides a Servant, the Caster most likely, asked the most pertinent question she had. "What on earth is _that?_"

That would be the weapon clutched tightly in the Servant's hands, if such a title was right for something that was never meant to be brought to the fields of battle. Outside her hands it was a hobbyhorse; a child's toy consisting of a long rod upon which was attached the intricately carved head of a horse, or a unicorn as the case is for this particular item. In her grasp though it was as much a weapon as any other, perhaps even more so.

"That is called a homerun swing!" An amicable voice loudly proclaimed from the shadows where the Servant had emerged. "I couldn't expect anything less from you if I tried, my Avenger."

The Master of the Avenger stepped forth with closed eyes and a slight hunch in his back as though he was half prepared to go about on all fours. His hair, red as blood and twice as dark, fell in long bangs over his face while the back was tied in a massive braid that fell to just above his knees. One could argue he was dressed rather casually if it weren't for the fact that almost every bit of skin was covered with cloth be it actual clothing or a tight wrapping of bandages. Only his face and his right hand, which was marked by the Command Seals, were bare of this strange obsession.

"Avenger?" whispered the Saber. _Impossible_, she thought, _the Seven have been summoned there cannot be an Eighth…_ Yet what more proof was there than what her own eyes allowed her to see?

Though he made a show of turning his head up to the sky, Avenger's Master kept his eyes firmly closed as he spoke, "You got quite the swinging arm there, Avenger. I think you even managed to clip that guy loitering about on the crates over there." The Lancer's eyes widened a fraction before he hastily blurred out of sight. "And then there were two."

"Um… excuse me but… who are you?"

"Who… am I…?" The Master of the Avenger turned his head to face Irisviel von Einzbern. "Why, I hardly know miss." He chuckled and gestured at his bandages, "I'm not quite myself as you can see."

The Avenger turned sharply to her Master. "Abraham you promised!"

To his credit, the bandaged Master did seem remised. "Ah… but really, it's as true as any other way I might have said it. Besides, aside from you there is only the Caster whose identities escape us and I'd wager a pretty penny that we find out before the dawn."

The Avenger sighed with the exasperation of one having been surrounded by senseless stupidity. "Be that as it may, do try and forgive me if I don't wish to make myself out as a fool as his majesty the King here has."

"Precisely." The Saber nodded in agreement with the Avenger, thinking that there was a female Servant with the same amount of sensibility as herself. That is, until she realized that both Avenger and her Master were looking at her and that the Rider was failing to hide the fact that he was laughing. "Wait, you don't mean… I'm a girl!"

"… I'm not seeing it, are you?" asked the Master to his Servant.

"I try not to," she said before tossing to him her weapon. "Here I'm done playing with it for now."

Her Master caught it easily and the moment it met his hand, it shattered as snow on the wind and was once more what it had been before; a toy. Abraham gave it a look over and sighed as he twirled it once like a staff only for the toy to disappear midway through, a spell he either hadn't intended to enact or was caught unprepared for as he stumbled a bit before regaining his composure.

_Smooth…_

* * *

_"I was required to identify your family in the Oxford morgue. Your sister was completely recognizable; I can't say the same for your parents."_

_"She is certainly ill. She imagines strange things. And she has a hero complex: an inherent desire to help others, being unable to help herself, and compulsion to make the world right… She's trying to "unlock" the true meaning of her life. And she doesn't know who has the key."_

* * *

"You know."

Abraham didn't even look up from where he lay along the couch, the evidence of his knowledge plain as day in his hands. "I knew the moment you answered. Your attire was hardly unrecognizable you know." He tapped at the book's cover for emphasis.

_Good, antagonize her, that'll make her happy won't it?_

"That's not what I meant and you know it." She glared at the book in his hands as though her eyes would set the thing to dust.

"Does this bother you that much?" He asked her, closing the book and sitting up to look at her directly with his eyes fully opened, revealing their full burgundy glory. "That you and your entire world are beloved by countless people? That yours is a story that goes further than even the legends that we are at war with?"

_Flattery is not going to work either._

She kept her glare upon the book, a hand clutching tightly at air but well prepared for the grip of steel. "It is not the whole story and that world you are so fond of is no longer the pleasant daydreams of a selfish, misbegotten child." She blinked and shook her head before turning emerald orbs to meet burgundy. "You saw it didn't you? In your dreams?"

"I would not call what I had witnessed as a dream… nor would I call it a nightmare. What I saw…" He shook his head. "It makes me understand you, just a bit more."

"I do not want nor need your pity!" snapped the Avenger.

"Pity?" Abraham asked her. "I cannot say in full honesty that there isn't a part of me that weeps for what you endured but no, I do not pity you. If you must put it to words, I would call it… admiration."

"… What?" He had caught her by surprise and she showed it clearly. "There is nothing admirable about me."

"No? You who was handed to those monstrosities of humankind already broken to be shattered further? You who was carried in to that pit of inhuman depravity and walked out of your own accord with head held high? You, who were tricked by the murderer of your family who sought to make a prostitute out of you and every orphaned child sent his way? You who discovered the truth of your family's death who sought not vengeance but justice in its purity? How is all of that not something to admire?"

"…"

"I weep for you but I do not pity you," he repeated. "In my entire life there have only been three people that I've admired. A man who sought more than he ever desired, a woman who bleed too much on the behalf of others, and a fool who threw everything that he was into everything that he did. I can tell you now, there's a fourth person to that list and to see her, all you need to do is look into the mirror. Maybe then you'll see the person that I see. Not the Servant, not the Avenger, just… you."

* * *

_"A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step."_

_"A single step off London Bridge could end MY journey…"_

_"Failure as your epitaph? I'd hoped you were more courageous!"_

* * *

_Well… you did ask for it._

Abraham couldn't help the remorseful sigh. Yes, he had thought that the shouting match between his Avenger and the Saber in this supposed "Grail Dialogue" of the Rider's couldn't possibly get any worse but he had thought that blows would come next, perhaps even weapons to be drawn, but certainly not this! An army of shadows, a cabal of Assassins, here for him or Avenger, he could only hazard a guess as to which. He supposed he made the easier target what with his dreadful appearance, but did they really think so little of his Avenger to only send a small army?

_… Your… Avenger?_

He blinked and wondered just when that had occurred, his referral to Avenger being his…

A thought for another time perhaps.

The Avenger was standing, holding the shattered remains of a teacup in her hands as she glared out across the shadowed figures. "Blasted Assassins! Don't try and bully me, I'm very much on edge!"

Another dagger came flying from the darkness, this one to pierce flesh instead of porcelain but it never struck. Not when a burst of butterflies enveloped the Avenger and carried her to safety mere feet away. Her eyes narrowed further. "_I'm feeling that feeling again… I'm looking through the glass, he's wearing a Cheshire grin…_"

Her Master's eyes widened in surprise but he did not dare to interrupt her aria.

"_I close my eyes and dream again, maybe now you'll understand…_"

The Assassins stirred, the Rider clenched his mighty fists, and the Saber grasped tightly the hilt of her invisible sword. By their nature as Servants, they were the first to grasp the workings, the meaning, of the Avenger's words the power behind them as they brought into being, her conceptualized world onto this plane of existence.

"_Understand what this place has given me. Just take my hand and you'll see…_" The Avenger outstretched her hand as though to welcome the lead Assassin. The Masters flinched with sudden realization as the world that they knew was vanished away to the realm of memories for this was now a world not of their origin but of the making. This was a single person's imagination given physical manifestation or to put it in the terms of the magi…

"_Welcome to my Wonderland…_"

_A Reality Marble... She has a thrice-forsaken REALITY MARBLE!_

No one moved, no one dared to for fear that this rotting wasteland of a castle would crumble further into desecrating, taking even the very earth beneath them to total damnation. Withered tentacles and crusted boils of flesh littered the cracks and crumbling outer walls. The spires were pale and lackluster though they were topped in magnificent red points so colored by immeasurable gallons of spilt blood. The castle proper was the apparent source of the withered tentacles and was either purposefully made to support a massive heart-shaped hole at its center and given that its bloodied iron gate was of a similar design, it only added a bit more of truth to the identity of the Avenger.

"No… way…"

Not that either Irisviel von Einzbern or Waver Velvet believed it.

Both had read the books, and in the case of the homunculus several varieties of film as well, and both were well aware that the girl whom the books featured was in fact, an actual person. What neither them knew though was the story of the girl herself, not what could make her into a Heroic Spirit, for hers was a story that was on the shelf of every bookstore in the entirety of the world, but what could take the innocent daydreams of a child and turn it into a woman's, nay, a _demon's_ worst nightmare.

How could this hellish place be Alice's Wonderland?

Looking at the Avenger now, both were surprised to see that her attire had changed, not to the standard dress often associated to her but one of an almost royal design and was predominately red with spackles of black and marigold. The black arm-length gloves were cut to resemble castle towers and the dress itself possessed a pattern of hearts set upon on the bodice while a checkerboard rested upon the skirt. The bow was set in place by a heart-shaped skull and her pinafore bore now the astrological sigils of Venus and Leo, the maiden and the lion together to make…

"A Queen." Abraham whispered.

The Avenger whose hand was still held out to the leader of the Assassins clenched it into a tight fist. The ground trembled once and with the suddenness of striking serpents, limbs tore free from the earth's embrace and hauled up the bodies buried beneath them. Soldiers the whole lot of them, cards the entire pack of them, dead as dust the entire horde of them. All armed, the aces armored, and all standing between the Assassins and their prey. Though they possessed muscle and flesh of their papery bodies, the heads of the soldiers were naught but skulls whose eyes sockets were born in the shape of whatever Suite they followed Diamonds, Spades, Clubs, and most predominately of all, Hearts.

"_Off…_"

The ground trembled once more, fleshy tentacles ripping free from the base of the far off castle as the gaping heart shaped hole at its center became filled with stretched skin.

"_With…_"

An eye emerged at its center, massive as a football field and its heart shaped pupil red as freshly spilled blood. It twitched and turned this way and that before focusing its maddening gaze upon the miniscule humans below.

"_Their…_"

The iron gates slammed open as a human mouth opened wide in a primordial scream of inhuman rage and madness.

"_HEADS!_"

The card soldiers raised their weapons high and charged upon the gathered Assassins who fought remarkably well. Many of them managed to strike down at least three soldiers before they were set upon by seven more. The leader of the Assassins, the true "old man of the mountain" who was in fact a woman, watched the chaos surrounding her but made no move to attack or defend. She and her many alternate selves were sent on a suicide mission, that much was obvious now but she could take one respite from this.

Snicker…

The man who sentenced her and her kin to death would never reach the Grail.

SNACK!

Down came the Assassin's head and with it, the desecrated Dark of Heartness, the kingdom of the Bloody Red Queen of Hearts. Wonderland had retreated once more to the reflection of the looking glass, and its denizens vanished away down the rabbit's hole but for the one true Queen. She who had traveled not once, not twice, but _four_ times to this maddening world and had become so deeply ingrained that it was as much as piece of her as she was of it.

The Avenger stood with Vorpal Blade in hand, blood flowing down its sharpened edge as the last fading light of its snickering trail vanished into the sparkling ether of the vanished Wonderland. Gone was the attire befitting a royal and now was the dress of the girl who stumbled heels over head down into the Underground, who stepped through the Looking Glass, who fell into Madness and vanquished its hold upon her precious realm, and who faced the Return of Madness and brought together her shattered memories.

"Alice Liddell…?"

* * *

**Through the next gazing of the Kaleidoscope...**

_"The Empty"_

* * *

**Statistics:**

**Class:** Avenger  
**Identity:** Alice Liddell  
**Basic Stats:**  
_Alignment:_ Chaotic Neutral  
_Noble Phantasms: _A+_  
Strength:_ C (B)*  
_Mana:_ D  
_Endurance:_ C (B)*  
_Agility:_ B (A)*  
_Luck:_ B  
*See Hysteria

**Class Skills:  
**_Mad Enhancement:_ C*  
_Magic Resistance:_ B or A  
*See Methods of Madness: Hysteria

**Personal Skills:  
**_Battle Continuation: _A  
_Clarity of Madness:_ Unknown  
_Eye of the Mind (False):_ B  
_Mental Pollution:_EX

**Noble Phantasms:**  
_Vorpal Blade: The Snicker-Snack!:_ B or A  
_Toys of Ruin: The Twisted Remnants of Childhood:_ B+  
_Methods of Madness: The Symptoms of Insanity:_ A  
_Wonderland: Asylum of the Mad:_EX

Exposition:  
**_Clarity of Madness:_** Unknown  
Focuses Alice's rage and hysteria so that her fighting ability rises.

**_Mental Pollution:_** EX  
Due to her possessing a distorted mentality, Alice is capable of shutting out any kind of mental interference Thaumaturgy. However, it is because of this instability that it becomes nearly impossible for her to come to an understanding with individuals who do not possess an equivalent ranking of _Mental Pollution_. At EX, Alice can no longer differentiate between the real world and Wonderland. Thankfully, due to the state of her mind, Alice is able to compartmentalize the more destructive parts of the Mad Enhancement and disassociate herself from them.

**_Vorpal Blade: The Snicker-Snack!:_** B or A  
Alice's primary Noble Phantasm, the Vorpal Blade is incredibly effective against monsters such as Medusa and others that are "not of the natural world", especially those with draconic leanings. The Vorpal Blade's ranking is variable by the animosity or "bloodthirstiness" of her opponent. Basically, the more bloodthirsty/monstrous the opponent is, the easier the Vorpal Blade cuts… particularly well when it's aimed at the neck.

**_Toys of Ruin: The Twisted Remnants of Childhood:_** B+  
Similar in nature to Lancelot of the Lake's _Knight of Honor_, the _Toys of Ruin_ allow Alice to make a claim and make a Noble Phantasm out of whatever she grasps with only one minor stipulation. Whatever she may use, it must originally be a child's toy. It should also be noted that should she be wielding any such weapon whilst under the effects of _Methods of Madness: Hysteria_, it becomes… "broken"…

**_Methods of Madness:_** A  
Because she can no longer tell the difference between the real world and Wonderland, Alice has harnessed parts of her psyche and insanity into five abilities.  
**Hysteria:** When Alice is close to death, she can loose the rage and Mad Enhancement she keeps bottled up.  
**Regression:** Allows Alice to become a child roughly around the size of Illyasviel von Einzbern. While this decreases her strength by two ranks, it increases _Agility_ and _Eye of the Mind (False)_ by one rank.  
**Confidence:** Opposite to _Regression_, _Confidence_ is what makes a powerful giant out of Alice. How powerful a giant? Well for every ten feet she gains a (+) modifier for Strength stats. I.e.: 10 ft. = C+, 20 ft. = C++, 30 ft. = C+++, 40 ft. = B  
**Aversion:** Allows Alice to avoid any attack or trap, physical or magical, but only by a few feet.  
**Joy:** Allows Alice to use her dress as a kind of parachute, but makes her an easy target.

**_Wonderland: Asylum of the Mad:_** EX  
Alice's Reality Marble, it brings the Wonderland of her mind into a fully realized plane of existence, including its menagerie of mad citizens. Because of the fracturing of her mind, she can only summon one piece of Wonderland at a time but whatever piece she may bring forth pales in comparison to what lays waiting for her commands.

_Incantation:  
_I'm feeling that feeling again  
I'm looking through the glass  
He's wearing a Cheshire grin  
I close my eyes and dream again  
Maybe now they'll understand  
Understand what this place has given me  
Just take my hand and you'll see  
Welcome to my Wonderland…

* * *

**Author's Side-note:** Statistics for this Servant brought to you by Farmer Kyle, who not only makes this look easy but professional as well!


	3. The Empty

**DISCLAIMER:** All copyrighted materials belong to their respected owners.

* * *

Saber… masters of swords whose own legends often surpass beyond they who wield them. Lancer… wielders of spears, lances, any and all weapons that provide the extra reach that make striking them down all but impossible. Archer… the true masters of the long-range weaponry who possess such incredible strength of will that they virtually become their own masters. Rider… they who've mastered their mounts to such a degree that even upon their own feet they are a passing blur to untrained eyes. Caster… magicians, sorcerers, witches, and warlocks, they are the artisans of the magical arts, purveyors of spells and enchantments long lost to modern time and its scientific convention. Berserker… the mad dogs of war whose sheer physical might is rivaled only by their inhuman madness… Assassin… the shadow walkers who move silent and unseen by their victims until their blades are buried to the hilt in their heart.

Fourteen combatants in all, the seven Masters and the seven Servants whom they call forth from the Throne of Heroes to fight and kill to attain that which was named as the Holy Grail, that their wishes may be granted, one to the living and one to the dead. An absolute balance, a perfected measure of control… but a war is a war, and like all rules that have come before and like so many that will follow, they are broken.

Shattered.

Ignored.

Yet no higher price could be paid by the breaking of the simplest of rules for there, in the Holy Grail, existed something of… a loophole. Seven Masters and seven Servants, fourteen combatants in all. No more, no less.

Until the other classes were revealed… until one class was exploited.

Avenger… they whose lives were spent in the name of vengeance be it for themselves or others… It is not a true class, a substitute and nothing more. It was never meant to be used for few heroes of the past could fill the standard, and rare was it that the gifts of being an Avenger were welcomed. Summoned from frustration and slaughtered before the folly could be discovered, that which whom was called as Avenger was he who had, in life, been a sacrifice against all that is sin, all that is evil, all that is abhorrent of mankind. In his demise as a Servant, he had done what he had in life and so it was not the soul of an innocent, a soul of an avenging hero that was swept into the Holy Grail.

No.

What it was… what it is…

It is Sin.

It is Evil.

It is everything that mankind hates, loathes, and abhors about itself… all this and so much more was poured into the Holy Grail until that which it had been was no more. There was no holiness to this blackened Grail. The hellish monstrosity summoned forth by Avenger saw to that quite well. Yet… even in the deepest of darkness… there can be a spark, a tiny speck, of light that still shines, a soul willingly sacrificed so that a shared dream may together be realized.

The Grail has become corrupted… controlled by the Evils of the World but there is enough of its core, of _her_ original self, that retains, that remembers…

That all rules are made to be broken… and perhaps, just perhaps… a maddened beast was precisely what was necessary… to bring an end to this travesty…

* * *

**_From Across the Throne of Heroes_**

_"The Empty"_

* * *

It was for her protection that he returned to the house and family he had forsaken. It was for her happiness that he came to learn the damned arts of magic only his twisted monstrosity of a father could inflict as his way of "teaching". It was for her future that he would lay down his life, his very soul, in a war that he could not hope to win, to attain a prize he did not even desire.

All for her, a child that could have been his own had he the courage to say but three simple words so long ago. But even if he was to remain as an adoptive uncle, she was no less his to protect, his to cherish, and his to love as his own. The bond between them might not be that of blood but there was something there that connects people together more strongly than the binds of flesh and blood.

And it was in that name did he invoke madness in the name of his Servant.

"Let chaos cloud thine eyes. Thou, who art trapped in a cage of madness! And I, who doth hold thy chains!"

Kariya Matou had expected the shining light of the summoning circle to brighten to the intensity of a newly born star. He had expected power to make his knees tremble. He had expected a mad beast whose leash he would hold tightly in quivering hands.

None of what he expected happened.

The light of the summoning circle was vanquished, nay, _swallowed_ by shadows whose perpetual darkness was outlined in a bloody haze of red. Power like that which flooded the basement of the Matou Mansion was enough to make the structure's foundation shake like a leaf in the midst of a hurricane, a feeling mutually met across the entirety of Fuyuki City and beyond. The leash?

There was none.

All that bound Kariya to the monstrosity he called forth from desert wastelands of a different kind of Hell, were the three seals tattooed upon the flesh of his hand.

Yet somehow, this dying man who would be a Master to the Berserker remained standing whilst the centuries old _vampire_ that was his ancestor collapsed to his knees from where he stood at the top of the stairs.

No words were spoken by the Berserker but the faintly inhuman vocalization of a human throat being overrun by a monster's own; a growl some could say that was both human and beast. Still, Kariya heard the question hardly whispered yet not truly spoken.

**"_I ask of you, are you my Master?_"**

A single word… "Yes."

And the contract was made and the worms that had taken residency beneath Kariya's flesh uttered their death wails before the all-consuming _power_ that was flowing out from the Servant like a blackened sun. A thump brought the Master of the Berserker's eyes to the top of the stairs where he saw the gasping form of his father, a hand clutching at his throat as though he was being choked by some unseen force.

Disbelief flooded his veins but this was pushed aside by a single concern.

"Sakura…"

"Uncle?"

Kariya whirled and saw, sitting hidden in a small alcove littered with the carcasses of the dead crest worms, Sakura, eyes at long last showing something _alive_ in them. Something he had never thought to see in her in the year since her torture began at the hands of Zouken.

Hope.

Wordlessly he kneeled and opened his arms to her and she ran to him in a tight embrace. He hugged her tightly to him, whispering softly that she need not fear the monster in the room when that same creature was now at their side, staring down upon them with eyes hidden in the shadows of the mask it wore. A clawed hand was raised and with surprising gentleness, stroked the hair of the child with a softly growled utterance.

"**_Little sister…_**"

In that moment, Kariya realized many things but only one stood at the forefront of his mind. A realization that had come to him years ago when he turned his back on the darkness that was his family tree and the misbegotten lifestyles of the magi. Something that he wanted to do then but sincerely wished to do with extreme prejudice but a single year ago when he witnessed the depravity that had all but killed the innocent child in his arms. Hugging Sakura tightly to him so she would not witness what was to come, Kariya whispered this realization in two elegant words.

"Destroy him."

* * *

_"… If fate is a millstone, then we are the grist. There is nothing we can do. So I wish for strength. If I cannot protect them from the wheel, then give me a strong blade, and enough strength… to shatter fate."_

* * *

_What am I even doing here…?_

Kariya stood in the shadows, leaning tiredly against a crate as he saw without seeing. The energies of the Servants were like stars to his senses, their Masters muted like an open flame but for a few of the gathered witnesses to this opening battle of the Fifth Holy Grail War. Kariya's eyes opened slowly into the darkness, revealing that though his right eye retained its human quality, the right, which was hidden beneath locks of obsidian hair did not. The sclera was now black as moonless night and the iris now vibrant amber in color. This topical change was all that it was and far from the most potent of them in the Master of the Berserker.

_Sakura is safe, Zouken is dead, and I'm… alive… more alive than I had ever been…_

Without the crest worms flowing beneath his flesh, he had no means of using the methods he had learned of his family's magecraft and by all accounts should not possess the prana necessary to even function as a human being let alone a Master and yet there he was, stronger and healthier than he had ever been, tired only from a long day's work in finding the limits to this altered body he now possessed.

_What reason do I have to fight in this War…?_

The Rider's interruption though abrupt was nothing to the introduction of the Archer. The Servant of Tokiomi Tohsaka, the man who had given his daughter away despite the heartbreak it brought to his eldest child and to their mother. The mage who had granted an innocent child to a depraved and heartless monster for reasons yet unknown, and here, presently for all to see, was that man's Servant. Was it anger or instinct that drove Kariya to give a single order to his Servant?

"Kill him."

Blackness erupted like a pyre in the open grounds of the pier and soon faded away to the wind as the Berserker fully materialized into the physical plane. Tall as the Rider, the Berserker was garbed in black hakama and an equally dark long coat whose tails were raggedly cut. The wrists and collar of his coat sported reddish fur but that was the only real color on the Servant whose skin was the color of sun-bleached bones. The blackened claws of his hands and his bare feet were those of a predator, not much use for cutting or slicing, but to better keep the crushing grip of iron strength.

A mane of orange-tinted hair fell like a waterfall down past the Servant's hips from beneath the horrid mask that covered most of his head. A human skull sporting upon it otherwise pristine surface tribal-like stripes of obsidian that flowed across the shadowed sockets and down along the jaws, but what truly stood out were the pair of bladed horns that curved forward from the mask.

The horns of a demon…

"That's…!" gasped Irisviel.

"Berserker?!" The Saber was surprised not by the Servant's sudden appearance, which she did not doubt was in no small thanks to the Rider's idiocy, but the weapon he held tightly in his right hand. A daitō, a Japanese long sword whose length was only one-fourth shy of the Berserker's full height, with steel and hilt alike both seemingly molded straight from the moonless night.

The Archer opened serpentine eyes and saw that the horned visage of the Berserker was turned upwards to face him. "Who gave you permission to gaze upon me, rabid dog?" The Gates of Babylon turned its doorway and allowed the ancestral spear and sword held in its golden embrace to aim down upon the unmoving Berserker. "May your scattered remains entertain me, mongrel."

The unnamed weapons flew as missiles and their impact was enough to cause an explosion that shrouded the Berserker from sight in a massive cloud of smoke. A moment past before the cloud was brushed aside with enough force that one could claim it was the hand of God that did the necessary motions considering that both the smoke and the entire eastern side of the docks were obliterated from the sheer force of the gale that came not from spell but rather…

"A swing of his sword," whispered a stunned Lancer whose grip upon his own Noble Phantasms were quite lax by the shock. He knew, just as the other Servants knew by their nature as Servants, that there was no magic, no mystical force behind the swinging of that black blade. Just a simple motion and the sheer overwhelming power of the wielder was the cause of the damage.

Then, the Berserker _roared._

Imagine for a moment, a man screaming in a rage so vicious, so cruel, that it becomes an almost malleable thing that crawls over one's skin like the pinching claws of an army of centipedes. Now, imagine the howl of a beast whose hunger is so great as to never be satiated even by the devouring of countless thousands upon thousands. Now combine them together and you may just get a small inkling of that which was that godforsaken noise which shattered the wind and made both the living and the dead tremble for fear of their very souls.

Then, he _moved_.

Black sword met against golden armor blessed by the most ancient gods in all of Creation and ground sharply against it. It did not cut through but there was no missing the massive scar that trailed jaggedly across what once was a pristine surface.

"You-!" Was as far as the Archer got before the Berserker's sword came down again and again and again! Never was there a moment to strike, too close was the mad dog to let loose the full potential of the Gates of Babylon and for all his bravado, for all his heroic deeds which placed him first upon the Throne of Heroes, the Archer was no master of close combat. Which this fight all the more one-sided because, for all of his madness, there was _reason_ to the monster's blows, strategy in the sword's swings, conscious effort in his movements until—

CRACK!

The golden armor of Gilgamesh shattered like glass before the hero _ran_ from the monster.

The Berserker leapt back from the golden sparkles as though expecting an attack and when none came, he growled and hunched down low from his perch atop the lamppost that a King of Heroes once stood above the "lower class". Then his shadowed gaze turned sharply to the left, gazing down upon the Servants who had observed the fight. Though its eyes were darkly hidden, the Saber grasped her sword tightly in her right hand and hid a pained wince that came from the wound on her left. She knew that the Berserker's eyes were upon her and she was ready even when he shocked her by uttering a single word before leaping to the attack.

An attack that never came…

No, the Berserker had set his latest rampage upon the Lancer with a ferocity that made his earlier attack upon the Archer tamed by comparison. The Berserker was growling, grunting, and roaring with every swipe of his blade, gaining more and more ground upon the Lancer who could do no more than parry the blows with his spears until – at last – an opening!

Gae Buide the Yellow Rose of Mortality tasted blood once more.

The Lancer smirked, thinking that the slicing of the Berserker's throat would be enough to finish him. That smirk turned to a gape of horror as the bloodied spray never came, the wound gone as quickly as it had arrived upon the ivory flesh of the Berserker.

"What are you…?" whispered the Lancer.

The Berserker's answer was another soul-quivering howl and a vicious downward slash of his blade but like the Archer before him, the Lancer vanished into ether at the last moment though this was not by choice but by Command of his Master. And like the Archer before him, he did not escape without injury to his pride as a Servant of the Lance.

Gae Buide was lying broken and dead at the feet of the Berserker who stood glowering down at the opened rift he had carved into the sea before straightening fully upright. He stood there in silence for a moment before he too vanished away into blackness, leaving behind an intrigued Rider, a frightened-out-of-his-poor-little-mind Waver, a stunned Irisviel, and a confused Saber who thought of a single question in regards to the Berserker's actions.

_Who is Rukia…?_

* * *

_"Abandon your fear. Look forward. Move forward and never stop. You'll age if you pull back. You'll die if you hesitate."_

* * *

_"Do as you will."_

Maybe not the exact words Kariya had issued to his Servant but they were regarded as such nonetheless. So the Berserker left his Master's side so that he may at long last have his confrontation with the man who would send his daughter into the devil's arms. Not that much incentive was needed for the Berserker to go onto the assault this night when the Caster's madness proved itself truly unlimited. The foolish mockery of a mage had dared to take this War meant only for the involved participants to the innocent outsiders by summoning forth a monstrosity from Outside. It was not a being meant for this mortal realm and yet the Caster had not only dared to drag it here but to bind himself to it, to allow his power and its own to become as one, a symbiosis of the damned.

The hellion monstrosity moved like a monolith towards the shore where mortal souls awaited to be devoured so that its materialization would be completed but it was being hindered by the combined efforts of the Rider and the Saber. The Rider rode on his chariot of lightning and called down further bolts upon hapless flesh whilst the Saber ran across the water like it was the open earth, her invisible blade slashing and hacking away at any tentacle within range.

Useless.

A severed tentacle was regrown, electrical burns smoothed over by freshened flesh, and the Outsider's advance continued, slowly but surely to the unwitting masses gathering to witness this fog-ridden spectacle of heroes combating a monster straight out of the necrotic pits of Creation.

The Berserker stood on the open air, visible and unmoving. Because of his Class, the Berserker does not think in a way that a normal human would recognize. Little more than an animal conformed to a human body, those of the Berserker class are run entirely on the instinct of battle and this Berserker was no different but for one damning grace.

He possessed the instincts of an apex predator.

Worst yet, he was all too aware of his status on the food chain and he gazed down with such eyes upon the battlefield.

She was down there. Not as he knew her, but she was still herself in the ways his broken memories could ascertain. Eyes cold as the ice one moment but then warm as the sun the next. Headstrong and selfless, sacrificing so much of herself that even without looking he could feel the raggedness weighing heavily upon her very soul.

And short.

A surge of tentacles arose, more numerous than ever before and at long last, they caught hold of the Saber and sought to bring her a crushing demise.

"**_Tensa Zangetsu._**"

Hardly whispered yet not truly exclaimed, the utterance of the name was enough for the black sword in the Berserker's hand to gain an unseen sheen of spiritual power along its blade. The Tensa Zangetsu was raised high above the Berserker's masked head as he spoke again not a name but a command.

"**_Getsuga…_**" Blackness, pure and empty as Before the Beginning, arose in a thick and vicious flame that ate every mote of light that dared to shine near it. "**_Tensh_****_ō_**."

Darkness fell in a massive bloodied wave with all the force that changed the time Before the Beginning to the Present Time. The tentacles binding the Saber were not cut so much as _evaporated_ from existence, the stumps bleeding smoke whilst the Outsider and the Caster screamed as one.

A sound of thunder and the Saber found herself upon the shore beside her Master, Rider's Master, and the Lancer held loosely in the arm of the Berserker. She flushed red with indignation when she realized that he was holding her as one would a sack of potatoes and promptly exclaimed, "Let me down! I don't want or need your aid! I can protect myself just fine!"

The Berserker's masked face turned down towards her. "**_… Protect._**"

He bowed his head, the voices speaking to him once more, louder now and for once, in perfect unity, the three of them. He raised his hand and pointed with single, sharp claw that the Saber followed with her widening emerald eyes. "**_Them._**"

Several dozen people were gathered not too far away, none of them truly seeing the magi or the Servants of Fuyuki City but even blinded as they were to the world of magic, they knew, however innately, that a battle was taking place on this river, a battle whose outcome would spell either their salvation or their doom.

A reddish glare made the Saber squint her eyes up and gape like a fish at the glowing red orb slowly swelling in size at the tip of the Berserker's horns. It grew steadily, six inches, a foot, three, six, until it was well over twice his height in diameter and fired.

No. No, that's not quite right. A gun is fired. A cannon is fired. Why even a nuclear missile is fired. This? This was obliteration in every sense of the word given physical manifest with a hellion red glow the likes of which made the sky appear to bleed as it was _pierced_ through the fabric of space itself. The Outsider tried to stop the beam, to halt its progress, but unless the flames of Hell blessed the monstrosity there was no stopping the unstoppable.

The Caster had time enough to whisper a single name before he was destroyed, body and soul.

The _Cero_ traveled on further, clipping the tops of several darkened skyscrapers and further beyond as it traversed the atmosphere and disappeared beyond into the depths of the outer space. The Berserker watched as the last glimmer of red was but a faded memory before he and his unwitting passenger vanished in a crack of thunder. Swords rained down upon the earth where they had stood and the foul curses were flung down in the Babylonian tongue.

A mile above the earth, the Archer stood in a new set of armor, still golden but now bearing a cloak of red and whose design spoke well of his ancient standing in the World. The Gates of Babylon were opened wide with a hundred and one weapons armed and ready to be fired as missiles of steel upon the one who dared to make a mockery out of the King of Heroes.

"**_Getsuga…_**"

The Archer's eyes widened and he turned the Gates sharply about and fired on open air. A sound of thunder and the Archer felt the cold breath of death breathing gently down upon his neck.

"**_Tensh_****_ō_**."

Thus did darkness descend upon the Archer, and a hero was slain not by a man but by a monster.

* * *

**Through the next gazing of the Kaleidoscope...**

_"The Hunter"_

* * *

**Statistics:**

**Class:** Berserker  
**Identity:** Ichigo Kurosaki  
**Basic Stats:**  
_Alignment:_ Chaotic  
_Noble Phantasms: _A++_  
Strength:_ EX*  
_Mana:_ Unknown*  
_Endurance:_ A  
_Agility:_ A+++*  
_Luck:_ A

**Class Skills:  
**_Independent Action: _EX**_  
Mad Enhancement:_ E**  
_Magic Resistance:_B

**Personal Skills:  
**_Battle Continuation: _A  
_Guardian Knight:_ E - A_  
Instinct:_ A_  
Mental Pollution:_ A  
_Prana Burst (Darkness):_ EX*  
_Presence Detection:_ A  
_Reorganization of Injury:_ EX_  
Uncrowned Arms Mastership: _A+*

**See The Hollowed Mask: That Which Hides the Shameful Defeat  
*See Tensa Zangetsu: The Heavenly Chained Slayer of the Moon

**Noble Phantasms:**  
_Tensa Zangetsu: The Heavenly Chained Slayer of the Moon:_ EX  
_The Hollowed Mask: That Which Hides the Shamed Soul:_ Unknown  
_Cero: The Crimson Light of Emptiness:_ EX  
_Getsuga Tensh__ō__: The Black Moon's Fang:_ A - EX

Exposition:  
**_Guardian Knight:_** E – A  
Due to the severe amount of Mental Pollution, Ichigo Kurosaki is unable to tell the difference between allies and enemies and as such, this particular skill is in a constant state of flux depending on his actions in battle. Should he be fighting purposefully in the defense of another, it rises to its full rank but should he happen to strike down allies/innocents along the way, it drops like a rock.

**_Reorganization of Injury:_** EX  
Whether by his own inherent nature a malleable human soul or a byproduct of The Hollowed Mask, Ichigo Kurosaki possesses the rare skill of _Reorganization of Injury_ at its highest level which, combined with his incredibly high _Endurance_, means nothing short of Excalibur can kill him and even that must encompass the entirety of his body… Cursed weapons and spells that do not allow for the healing of wounds are null and void with this significant ranking.

**_Tensa Zangetsu: The Heavenly Chained Slayer of the Moon:_** EX  
Ichigo Kurosaki's sword which is in itself a self-contained Reality Marble as it is made not from mundane steel but by his very soul. Only a blade of great repute can meet its sharpened edge unscathed. By its nature as an embodiment of Ichigo Kurosaki's soul, the Tensa Zangetsu further enhances his abilities to their utmost maximum but only so long as the sword is within his grasp. Without it, Ichigo's agility and strength drop a full rank. It should also be noted that it is through the Tensa Zangetsu that the _Getsuga Tensh__ō_ is executed.

**_The Hollowed Mask: That Which Hides the Shamed Soul:_** Unknown  
Ichigo Kurosaki's greatest strength and ultimate weakness, _The Hollowed Mask_ is what grants him the powers to rival even the Vasto Lordes of Huenco Mundo. It is because of this mask that Ichigo possess all of the inherent abilities of a hollow and is, in essence, his "Achilles heel" insomuch that should it become damaged enough, he would revert back to his true nature. It is also a side-effect of the Hollowed Mask that Ichigo cannot discern friend from foe and will often assume whichever he likes of whomever he is faced with, even if those assumptions are the furthest from the truth.

**_Cero: The Crimson Light of Emptiness:_** EX  
An Anti-World Noble Phantasm, the _Cero_ is an ability inherent to all forms of hollow but thanks to his own nature as a human soul intertwined with the powers of a shinigami's bankai, Ichigo's _Cero_ is without rival. In his legend, a single blast of his _Cero_ was enough to burn through all the levels of Hell itself and shatter its gates into the mortal realm. And _that_ was just the opening blast. The only true defense from this attack is a defensive Noble Phantasm the likes of Rho Alias but even that one would not stand strong against a second blast.

**_Getsuga Tensh_****_ō_****_: The Black Moon's Fang:_** A - EX  
Tensa Zangetsu's primary attack which is roughly the equivalent to an Anti-Army Noble Phantasm, the _Getsuga Tensho _unleashes the Tensa Zangetsu's full power in a single massive stroke that unleashes a wave of darkness that could swallow the moon whole within its hungry jaws. However, as it is powered not by the Tensa Zangetsu and not Ichigo Kurosaki himself, he is free to use it multiple times a day though the power drops depending on the power and time between its use but it even at its weakest, it is still roughly equivalent to an attack dealt by an A-ranked Anti-Army Noble Phantasm.


	4. The Hunter

**DISCLAIMER:** All copyrighted materials belong to their respected owners.

* * *

Saber… masters of swords whose own legends often surpass beyond they who wield them. Lancer… wielders of spears, lances, any and all weapons that provide the extra reach that make striking them down all but impossible. Archer… the true masters of the long-range weaponry who possess such incredible strength of will that they virtually become their own masters. Rider… they who've mastered their mounts to such a degree that even upon their own feet they are a passing blur to untrained eyes. Caster… magicians, sorcerers, witches, and warlocks, they are the artisans of the magical arts, purveyors of spells and enchantments long lost to modern time and its scientific convention. Berserker… the mad dogs of war whose sheer physical might is rivaled only by their inhuman madness… Assassin… the shadow walkers who move silent and unseen by their victims until their blades are buried to the hilt in their heart.

Fourteen combatants in all, the seven Masters and the seven Servants whom they call forth from the Throne of Heroes to fight and kill to attain that which was named as the Holy Grail, that their wishes may be granted, one to the living and one to the dead. An absolute balance, a perfected measure of control… but a war is a war, and like all rules that have come before and like so many that will follow, they are broken.

Shattered.

Ignored.

Yet no higher price could be paid by the breaking of the simplest of rules for there, in the Holy Grail, existed something of… a loophole. Seven Masters and seven Servants, fourteen combatants in all. No more, no less.

Until the other classes were revealed… until one class was exploited.

Avenger… they whose lives were spent in the name of vengeance be it for themselves or others… It is not a true class, a substitute and nothing more. It was never meant to be used for few heroes of the past could fill the standard, and rare was it that the gifts of being an Avenger were welcomed. Summoned from frustration and slaughtered before the folly could be discovered, that which whom was called as Avenger was he who had, in life, been a sacrifice against all that is sin, all that is evil, all that is abhorrent of mankind. In his demise as a Servant, he had done what he had in life and so it was not the soul of an innocent, a soul of an avenging hero that was swept into the Holy Grail.

No.

What it was… what it is…

It is Sin.

It is Evil.

It is everything that mankind hates, loathes, and abhors about itself… all this and so much more was poured into the Holy Grail until that which it had been was no more. There was no holiness to this blackened Grail. The hellish monstrosity summoned forth by Avenger saw to that quite well. Yet… even in the deepest of darkness… there can be a spark, a tiny speck, of light that still shines, a soul willingly sacrificed so that a shared dream may together be realized.

The Grail has become corrupted… controlled by the Evils of the World but there is enough of its core, of _her_ original self, that retains, that remembers…

That all rules are made to be broken… and perhaps, just perhaps… one who rides towards redemption may make the way for that of the Grail…

* * *

**_From Across the Throne of Heroes_**

_"The Hunter"_

* * *

Somehow, in the admittedly hastily conceived list of things Waver Velvet saw himself doing in the Holy Grail War, hiding in the bushes was not of them. Particularly thorny bushes no less but even in this late hour of the night, the young Master did not dare to tempt fate by leaving himself openly exposed whilst his Servant set about his business across the street.

_I wonder though,_ thought Waver, _how he plans to exit the_—

BOOM!

_He… He blew up the door. He actually blew up the steel door! _Somehow, Waver's jaw had managed a perfect rendition of an anvil with its drop speed and was now doing a marvelous job of duplicate the flapping motions of a fish._ How did he even do that?! It looked like it was punched clean off but those flames—How?! No, better question, why?! For the love of God, why?!_

That was when the Servant himself appeared through the smoke, pushing along his recent acquisition with a beat-all smile on his slightly rugged face. Decked almost entirely in leather, the Servant was every bit the appearance of a biker punk minus the tattoos and build. In a different set of clothes, he might have appeared as any common man with a slightly-out-of-date mullet of brown hair. Even with his eyes hidden behind a pair of black sunglasses, there was no missing the adoration he shone down upon the device he had acquired.

"Rider!" exclaimed Waver, jumping clear from the thorny bushes. "I know you can't carry anything when you're in spirit form but why did you deem it necessary to blow the door open like that?!"

The Rider spoke unrepentantly as he shrugged. "Don't panic, Boy. It's not like I'm stealing."

"If you're not stealing then what are you doing?!"

The Rider chuckled, "You can't steal what's already yours, Boy."

Waver flinched at the sudden mechanical purr and set a fierce glare down upon the thing. "I'll take this back, and you-you disappear! Disappear right now!"

An eyebrow rose above the shades, a teasing smirk.

"Do you even know how to ride?" The Rider faded into the ether, Waver's embarrassed blush answer enough. Waver glared at the open air for a moment before turning his eyes down upon the vehicle.

Black for the most part, stunning silver in others, it was a premiere example of its breed but that mattered little to the Master who had little to no idea why his Servant, a heroic spirit who excelled in the art of riding to such a degree that his deeds have been imprinted upon the pages of myth and legend alike, would have need of a motorcycle.

Waver got his answer when the last of his strength gave out and he neatly fell to the curb with the motorbike tipping only slightly to the side. Or in a less rose-tinted view, the young Master collapsed like a sack of potatoes with all the grace of an old dog run ragged one hundred times too many with the cause of his exhaustion nearly breaking his legs only to be caught by more experienced hands.

"I'll give you credit, Boy. I thought you'd have collapsed two miles back." The Rider stated.

"Yo-You!" Waver gasped incredulously, panting and red-faced from having dragged the motorbike halfway through the city. "Tell me why you even need that-that _thing_? Don't you have a ride of your own?"

"A ride… of my own?" The smirk that constantly played at the Servant's lips was gone and in its place was something… almost like heartbreak. "While not the exact same, this resembles that which my last partner drove on his path towards freedom of our shared sins… Out of the countless hundreds I had rode with, he was the only one to try and comprehend, to try and understand… the monster that I had become. In his memory, I wear this visage and for all those whom served me just as I served them I was summoned with no ride of my own." Suddenly, the despair was gone, and a toothy grin was on the Rider's face. "So tell me, Boy. What is it that you wish to attain out of this War?"

"Wh-What?" Waver started, nonplussed by the sudden change in both the Rider and the subject of conversation. "Why would you want to know? Why do you care?"

"I would know of the one who would summon the likes of me, out of the entirety of the Throne." The Rider stated.

Realizing he had no real reason to refuse the Servant, Waver complied, "I-I'll tell you what I want. I just want people to treat me fairly. The people at Clock Tower don't acknowledge my talents, and I want to change that!"

"_Pathetic wretch!_" A harsh backhand would have thrown Waver to the ground were the lapels of his shirt not caught tightly in gloved hands. Even hidden as they were, there was no mistaking the blazing fury of the Rider's eyes for there was an unearthly glow shining behind them as wafts of smoke slowly started to rise from his body as he screamed at the boy.

"You would lay your very soul on the empty promises of pride?! Do you forget the last Commandment of the Lord? Thou shalt not covet! Do you not know the psalm? He made a pit, and digged it, and hath fallen into the ditch which me made!" He shoved Waver down to the ground and turned his back upon the boy. "You would be granted eternity in Hell for the sins which you would commit in this War and you would do it for such a useless reason? Be they Servant or Master, your hands _will_ be stained with blood, Boy. By the end of it, when we stand victorious, I pray you will have better justification. I will pray most fervently."

Waver stared slack-jawed at the back of his Servant before his teeth started to grind in a fierce scowl of his own. _How dare he talk to me like that?! He is my Servant and he preaches to me of God?_ Waver's right hand rose almost of its own accord as the Command Seals tattooed across its back began to shine with bloodied light. Then, the rest of the Rider's tirade flittered through the young mage's mind.

**_Your hands will be stained with blood._**

He… hadn't considered…

**_You would be granted eternity in Hell for the sins which you would commit in this War _**

He'd never…!

**_By the end of it, when we stand victorious, I pray you will have better justification._**

A threat, that's all that it was, it didn't mean—

_Wait. He said… he said when we…?_

The light of the Command Seals faded with Waver's ire and unseen to the young Master, a smile graced the face of his Servant.

"… What makes you so sure that you can win?" asked Waver.

"Do you think me weak, Boy?" asked the Rider. "Or is the truth of your question not of my victory but of my ability to attain it?"

"O-Of course it is!" snapped Waver, nearvous that his Servant was proving to be more adept at reading him than he'd like. That and the way the Rider was smiling was beyond the simple definitions of the word creepy and well into the terrifying. "You need to prove that I can rely on you!"

The Rider smirked and strode over to the waiting motorcycle. The streetlights flickered and died as the Servant placed his hands upon the handlebars of the vehicle. The night air grew warmer with a rapid haste as the Rider tilted his back and screamed as a portion of his spirit was imbued into the bike and from that essence it was transformed.

* * *

_"Legends are a way of understanding things greater than ourselves. Forces that shape our lives, events that defy explanation. Individuals whose lives soar to the heavens or fall to the earth. This is how legends are born."_

* * *

The Saber was not a pessimistic warrior even with the tragedy that was the ending of her legend, nor was she quite the imaginative dreamer despite the magic that surrounded her even in this modern age. She might have expected an interruption in her duel with the Lancer under different circumstances, if it was closer to the city proper rather than at its pier perhaps, and if such an event were to occur she'd be right to think that it would be by the will of another Servant of the Holy Grail War. However, what made her and the Lancer alike stare in mutual awe and horror was not the Servant himself but the manner in which he arrived on a blazing trail of fire through the very air.

At some point in its history, it might have been a motorcycle, but here as it was such a statement was comparative to stating a dragon might have been a dinosaur. A grain of truth perhaps and plenty of similarities between them but it was the differences that made the two distinct. The dinosaurs are dead and long buried and so never inspired much beyond the wonders of the ancient past. Dragons on other hand are creatures to be respected and feared for their appearance and the power that they exhumed with their very breath.

A power the likes of which _burned_ as the fires of Hell itself upon the wheels of the motorcycle whose headlights were the eyes set upon a skull-like visage of obsidian steel. The Rider sat at the front with a face of monotone as he regarded the formerly battling Servants whilst his Master, a young lad barely halfway through his teens, clutched tightly to the man's waist, gibbering incoherently as tears of relief flowed down his ashen face.

"So, these are to be my obstacles?" The Rider turned to the Lancer, then to the Saber, before his gaze turned upwards to the black night sky. "Is it wrong to desire opponents of damnable sin than those of lesser crimes that stand before me now?" He asked as though hoping for an answer. When none came, he sighed and started to look back down towards the Saber but stopped. The flames of the motorcycle roared with a sudden intensity. A flicker of the World tilting its whim to that of the Rider's own found the Servant standing before the bike with his arm outstretched and in his hand—

"_Hell's Shackles._" The chain that had once rested around the Rider's torso was now flying through the air whilst the fires of the Hereafter burned along its links. It flew not by whim of gravity or physics but by desire to ensnare what would not be caught, that which should not be caught within its coils. The victim had time to squawk in surprised outrage as the chain hugged tightly around his throat and dragged him through the open air to slam against the earth before the Rider's feet.

The Lancer started in surprise. "That's—!"

"Assassin!" exclaimed the Saber.

The Rider ignored them both as he pulled the struggling Servant closer as the chain continued to burn down to the Assassin's… "What manner of depravity did you have in life to be as you are now? A piece of the whole, but never one."

The Assassin would have been surprised had he actually heard the words of the Rider but by then, the Hell's Shackles had burnt the sparkling of a soul into ash and so too did the body become.

"Well, well… I had wondered what madness enticed you to steal my relic and though it pleases me to see that your thievery was punished accordingly, I find myself surprised. I never would have imagined that you would enter the Holy Grail War… Waver Velvet." An ethereal voice echoed down to the gathered Servants and Masters, of which only two reacted differently than mild confusion. The Lancer became almost resigned at the voice of his Master but Waver Velvet visibly paled as a cold sweat broke out upon his forehead. He knew the Master of the Lancer, but more than that he knew fully well what the man was capable of.

"El-Melloi…" stuttered Waver.

"Perhaps I will tutor you with some extra lessons on the true meaning of Magi killing one another. I'll teach you all about the fear and agony that is involved. You should feel honored."

So close was he to having a nervous breakdown that Waver almost shrieked when the leather covered hand placed itself firmly upon his head. Tearful eyes turned upwards into the stone-faced visage of his Servant as the smell of brimstone and smoke permeated the air. Beneath him, the cycle growled and turned its front so that its skeletal gaze was aimed into the shadows where its Rider now gazed with cold disdain.

"You who would have been the one to summon me… Be thankful that though your hubris is great, innocent blood does not stain your hands this night. Had you been the one to summon me, I'd have burnt the contract and be done with you for you would have been nothing more than a pest, an annoyance perhaps. Had you remained an obstacle in our attainment of the Grail, I'd have dealt with you just the same, but you made your first mistake in threatening the life of this boy, this innocent, in front of me. So here is my warning to you, mage.

"Pray. Pray that the Lord shall grant you the mercy that I no longer possess to give to the likes of cowardice vermin such as you who would hide in the shadows whilst your Servant fights on your behalf. This boy has more courage in his right hand than you in the entirety of your soul!" The Rider spat to the side, a glob of mucus that ignited upon exposure to the open air and burned viciously on the asphalt. "Now then, if there's anyone else lurking about, make yourselves known here and now or share in the shame of the cowardly Master of the Lancer!"

"What are you talking about, Rider?" asked the Saber. Though far from capable of detecting presences in the dark, as was already demonstrated not once but twice in as many minutes, the Servant of the Sword had little reason to think that a fight between her and the Lancer would warrant much attention.

Rather cute really, her naivety.

"Do you truly think that a battle between legends would go unnoticed? If it attracted my gaze, you can be sure that less dangerous eyes were drawn here."

"Such arrogance." Golden light preceded the arrival of the Archer who stood atop a nearby lamppost. "In a single night, I hear an insolent knave proclaim herself a king and a whelp think himself something to be frightened of. Such insolence to be spoken in my presence…"

The Rider smiled dangerously, turning fully to face the Archer. "The Fallen Star must be behind this somehow. There is no other explanation of the hubris that surrounds me." He muttered before fully addressing the Archer. "Who are you to think such things of the Saber or I, _child?_"

The Archer's serpentine eyes narrowed.

"I am the one and only Hero King in this heaven and Earth. The rest of you are merely a bunch of mongrels." Golden swirls of light appeared behind the Archer as the Gates of Babylon opened wide to their Keeper's silent summoning. "If you cannot discern my true identity even in the presence of my magnificent glory, then your ignorance shall result in your death!"

Weapons slowly poured forth, their sharpened tips aimed down upon the gathered Servants below. A grin of deranged madness played on the Archer's face as the weapons were primed to fire like meteors of steely death upon the peasant folk beneath him when he was soundly interrupted by the sudden arrival of the Berserker.

The fight that followed, if it could even be called that, did more damage in three minutes than the entirety of the duel between the Lancer and Saber. The Archer proved that his arsenal was great and rightfully so as weapons fell as missiles through the air and impacted as such upon the earth below. The Berserker proved that even in the depths of madness he retained the skill which raised him to the pillars of legend as he grasped those nameless weapons as he own and made of them a defense and offense both to the Archer. Quickly as it had begun, the confrontation was ended by the silent Command of the Archer's Master who must have ordered an immediate retreat for the Golden Servant whose disdain and anger had reached a new level as he acquiesced and vanished into the ether.

The Lancer was staring with wide eyes, the Saber too but with a slight gape to her mouth for both had known that though the shadows covered the Berserker in anonymity, there was no mistaking the armor to be that of a knight and by the way he had fought, one of exceptional skill. Irisviel and Waver both were awed by what they had witnessed though the younger had a unhealthy dose of fear to go with it. All of their eyes and the glimmering visor of the Berserker then turned to the Rider whose reaction was entirely different.

He was laughing like a raving lunatic.

"The Lord has given me a chance! He has heard me and has answered me at long last!" He proclaimed with the excitement of one who did not believe such a thing had come to pass but knew it to be the gospel truth. He raised his arms high into the air as smoke began to rise in eager clouds from his rapidly warming flesh. "The Lord has given unto me my ideal obstacle: a sinner! At long last, a _sinner!_"

His laughter reached to the edge of mad and fell into the utterly deranged category as he walked towards the Berserker, flames burning merrily in the wake of his every step. The Rider reached up to his sunglasses and tossed them aside and at long last the World could witness the half-truth of the Servant's eyes.

He had none.

With a final lunatic laugh, the flesh of the Rider was burnt away leaving not but polished bones to burn in the blazing red fires of Hell. This was the truth of the Rider's existence, he was not summoned as he was before his capture by the Lord of the Nine Circles of Hell but long after and so he remained in the twisted visage that ceaseless measures of torture throughout the realms of Hell could inflict upon an Angel of Justice and make unto it a mockery of what he had been.

Justice turned to Vengeance and an Angel had become not a Fallen but a Spirit, an embodiment of everything that its conceptualized reality was. Vengeance to be dealt for the innocent by way of punishing the guilty and allowing the pains of the victims to continue to fester and remain unhealed. Such was what his existence had become until at long last he remembered that he was not the Ghost Rider.

He was Zarathos.

The crimson flames of Hell blazed into the azure fires of Heaven's Light as the Rider advanced with burning chain twirling a flaming trail.

"_You may hide your identity with your shadows but you cannot hide your crimes, sinner! Your hands are stained by the blood of innocents!_" The Rider was upon the Berserker in an instant, the pair trading blows with explosions of flame and shadow expelling with every hit. The Berserker tried to gain advantage by claiming the cut remains of a lamppost as his Noble Phantasm but every attempt to gain distance was blocked by the lashing chain of the Rider. By madness or by choice, the Berserker made the foolish decision to rush the Rider in a tackle that was met with cackling glee as seemingly empty sockets met a crimson visor.

"_Look into my eyes and feel their pain!_"

* * *

**Through the next gazing of the Kaleidoscope...**

_"The Ape"_

* * *

**Statistics:**

**Class:** Rider  
**Identity:** Zarathos (Earth-121347)  
**Basic Stats:**  
_Alignment:_ Chaotic Good  
_Noble Phantasms: _A+++_  
Strength:_ B  
_Mana:_ A+  
_Endurance:_ B  
_Agility:_ B+  
_Luck:_ D

**Class Skills:  
**_Independent Action:_ B  
_Item Construction:_ EX*(**)_  
Magic Resistance:_ A  
_Presence Concealment:_ A+_  
Riding:_ EX***

**Personal Skills:  
**_Battle Continuation: _A  
_Divinity:_ C_  
Instinct:_ A_  
Mental Pollution:_ A  
_Mystic Eyes:_ EX**  
_Prana Burst (Fire):_ EX  
_Presence Detection:_ A  
_Reorganization of Injury:_ A

*See _Fires of the Hereafter: That Which Reigns in Both Heaven & Hell_  
**See _Eyes of Penance: The Eternal Judgment of Sin  
_***See _In Need of a Steed: No Free Ride towards Redemption_

**Noble Phantasms:**  
_Fires of the Hereafter: That Which Reigns in Both Heaven & Hell:_ EX  
_Eyes of Penance: The Eternal Judgment of Sin:_ Unknown  
_Hell's Shackles: The Chains of Damnation: _E — A+++  
_In Need of a Steed: No Free Ride Towards Redemption:_ A+++

Exposition:  
**_Divinity:_** C  
Were he whole and complete, Zarathos' true angelic potential would raise this rank all the way to A, perhaps even EX. However, due to his capture and immeasurable torture in the depths of Hell, he has become… twisted. Not quite a Fallen or an Angel, Zarathos who had once been the greatest of the Archangel Raguel's disciples, had changed from an Angel of Justice to a Spirit of Vengeance. Only in his last human host was Zarathos able to reclaim a measure of his former glory but even that is not enough to erase the centuries he spent hunting the damned and punishing the guilty whilst ignoring the pains and misery of the innocent.

**_Fires of the Hereafter: That Which Reigns in Both Heaven and Hell:_** EX  
An Anti-Army Noble Phantasm, the _Fires of the Hereafter_ are the flames of the afterlife, more specifically the flames of Heaven and Hell. Due to his own inherent nature as an angel, Zarathos is capable of using the blue fires of Heaven, which can heal any injury, cure any sickness, and can even revive the recently departed. However, due to his imprisonment in Hell and his carrying of its shackles, Zarathos can also wield its flames, which burn down to the very soul of the damned. However, the effects of Hell's flames are dependent on the level of sin upon the victim's soul thus, the guiltier they are of sin, the more the fires shall burn away…

**_Eyes of Penance: The Eternal Judgment of Sin:_** Unknown  
Zarathos' Mystic Eyes of which there is no certain origin behind, the _Eyes of Penance _are a type of Mystic Eyes thus far uncategorized under the Noble Colors system. If such a ranking and title were to be properly given these eyes would likely be labeled as Judgment with the color of Black. The Eyes of Penance only work on beings with a soul and is only activated by the command phrase, "Look into my eyes and feel their pain…" Once the victim does so, they are forever trapped in an endless cycle of every pain, every torment, they've ever inflicted until the day the die. On the outside, the victim appears to be in a coma-like state but in the depths of their soul, they are _screaming_ for the mercy that will never come.

**_Hell's Shackles: The Chains of Damnation:_** E – A+++  
Similar in nature to Gilgamesh's Enkidu, the _Hell's Shackles _are a length of chain capable of entrapping an angel in the pits of Hell. However, like Zarathos himself, the shackles inherent nature have become warped and while they are still capable of holding even a Seraphim in place, its will became bound to its intended victim, its purpose warped alongside Zarathos' own. Like the _Eyes of Penance_, the heavier the sin, the stronger the Hell's Shackles tightens its grasp. When its powers are fully invoked, the Hell's Shackles become engulfed by the _Fires of the Hereafter_ and it becomes a weapon of need, changing length, durability, and even shape to Zarathos' will.

**_In Need of a Steed: No Free Ride Towards Redemption:_** A+++  
Similar in nature to Lancelot of the Lake's _Knight of Honor_ and Alice Liddell's _Toys of Ruin_, _In Need of a Steed_ works on the principle concept of the thought, "_If I can ride it, it is my steed._" However, unlike Lancelot, who raises his weapons to a low-level enchantment and Alice whose toys become B+ at their absolute highest, whatever Zarathos may claim as his steed be it machine or living is granted an A+++ Anti-Army Noble Phantasm status. Whatever steed Zarathos _claims_ as his own becomes an extension of himself, and as such receive all the same stats as he save for Agility which is raised to A+++.


	5. The Ape

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* * *

Saber… masters of swords whose own legends often surpass beyond they who wield them. Lancer… wielders of spears, lances, any and all weapons that provide the extra reach that make striking them down all but impossible. Archer… the true masters of the long-range weaponry who possess such incredible strength of will that they virtually become their own masters. Rider… they who've mastered their mounts to such a degree that even upon their own feet they are a passing blur to untrained eyes. Caster… magicians, sorcerers, witches, and warlocks, they are the artisans of the magical arts, purveyors of spells and enchantments long lost to modern time and its scientific convention. Berserker… the mad dogs of war whose sheer physical might is rivaled only by their inhuman madness… Assassin… the shadow walkers who move silent and unseen by their victims until their blades are buried to the hilt in their heart.

Fourteen combatants in all, the seven Masters and the seven Servants whom they call forth from the Throne of Heroes to fight and kill to attain that which was named as the Holy Grail, that their wishes may be granted, one to the living and one to the dead. An absolute balance, a perfected measure of control… but a war is a war, and like all rules that have come before and like so many that will follow, they are broken.

Shattered.

Ignored.

Yet no higher price could be paid by the breaking of the simplest of rules for there, in the Holy Grail, existed something of… a loophole. Seven Masters and seven Servants, fourteen combatants in all. No more, no less.

Until the other classes were revealed… until one class was exploited.

Avenger… they whose lives were spent in the name of vengeance be it for themselves or others… It is not a true class, a substitute and nothing more. It was never meant to be used for few heroes of the past could fill the standard, and rare was it that the gifts of being an Avenger were welcomed. Summoned from frustration and slaughtered before the folly could be discovered, that which whom was called as Avenger was he who had, in life, been a sacrifice against all that is sin, all that is evil, all that is abhorrent of mankind. In his demise as a Servant, he had done what he had in life and so it was not the soul of an innocent, a soul of an avenging hero that was swept into the Holy Grail.

No.

What it was… what it is…

It is Sin.

It is Evil.

It is everything that mankind hates, loathes, and abhors about itself… all this and so much more was poured into the Holy Grail until that which it had been was no more. There was no holiness to this blackened Grail. The hellish monstrosity summoned forth by Avenger saw to that quite well. Yet… even in the deepest of darkness… there can be a spark, a tiny speck, of light that still shines, a soul willingly sacrificed so that a shared dream may together be realized.

The Grail has become corrupted… controlled by the Evils of the World but there is enough of its core, of _her_ original self, that retains, that remembers…

That all rules are made to be broken… and perhaps, just perhaps… one whose lance could pierce the Heavens, would pierce the blackened core of the Grail…

* * *

**_From Across the Throne of Heroes_**

_"The Ape"_

* * *

Kayneth Archibald El-Melloi is a lot of things. He is the eldest son of the El-Melloi family, which has nine previous generations of mages in its history. He is a lecturer of the prestigious Clock Tower of the Mage's Association and is well recognized amongst peers and the "lesser folk" alike. He is a master of the magical arts of Alchemy, Spiritual Evocation, and Summoning whose elemental affinities of wind and water make him a dangerous mage to contend with. Yet there is one thing, one simple tiny almost inscrutable fact that only his wife-to-be, Sola-Ui Nuada-Re Sophia-Ri, could attest of Kayneth.

He is an arrogant little twat.

He, a child of nine generations, thought himself great enough, knowledgeable enough, and powerful enough to alter the rules of the Holy Grail War? He whose so-called prestigious family was beneath the notice of the three great clans whose combined power and sacrifice was enough to construct a device worthy of association to God? Such arrogance, such _tripe_ was hardly unbecoming of an aristocrat but like many such nobles before him, both magical and mundane, Kayneth was about to receive a rude wake-up call.

The summoning circle had been painstakingly scribed and looked over several times to ensure that no mistake was made, that the blessed contract would be rewritten to suit his benefit. Kayneth would carry the Command Seals and be the Master of the Servant but his fiancée Sola-Ui would be the supplier of prana. It was tactfully sound plan, he argued with her time and time again, so that he and his Servant would fight side-by-side without holding back.

That he had no actual intention of doing such a thing as dirtying his hands was a mere measure of Kayneth's true reasoning. No, the truth behind this alteration of the contract was a far simpler and more believable reason. Kayneth wanted to prove that he could do what no other had tried, what no other could do, and raise his pedestal built on the mortars of pride even higher into the heavens.

"By your summoning I have come forth. I ask of you, are you my Master?"

Standing now, outside of the dimming light of the summoning circle, Kayneth's smile of satisfaction was quickly gone from his face. It was not the fact that the Servant was not whom he had expected given the use of his secondary relic, though he was incredibly angry to realize that not only was his Servant a _woman_ of all things but an Oriental at that. No, what had the mage looking like he had swallowed a lemon was whom the questioning Servant was gazing upon.

Sola-Ui who was gazing at her newly marked hand in surprise and, dare his imagination carry him off to some mystical fantasy, elation?

"WHAT THE F—"

* * *

_"I'm sorry to do this, but you are so careless and shallow. You cause trouble, time and time again."_

_"I'll change! I won't be that way or make the same mistake! Please!"_

* * *

The Saber had expectations of her first opponent in the Holy Grail War. It mattered not their class or even their legend for she had no doubt that every Servant called would be at the very least, her equal as a knight on the battlefields of honor and valor. When she had felt the pulse of intent coming from the docks, she had been surprised but then she became pleased. Yes, it was the caller who had the advantage of knowing the terrain but this Servant was bold enough to gain the attention of any Servant standing within the boundaries of Fuyuki City. Who was she to disappoint?

To be disappointed on the other hand…

The Lancer had her eyes closed as she stood on one foot atop her staff, a metallic red rod whose ends were composed of golden cudgels. The staff was roughly two-and-a-half meters in length, easily taller than its wielder who was no taller than the Saber and was just as petite. Yet there was a clear difference between them both in body and in armor for the Lancer's skin was a light tan from countless days spent in the sun and her hair was a boyish cut and held back from face by a golden circlet.

Her armor was much like the Saber's own but while the King of Knight's armor was the finest craftsmanship of the Fae Folk and simple if not slightly elegant in its design, the Lancer's own was a creation of true extravagance with crimson scales and golden visages of scowling primate faces. She wore a belt of animal fur around her waist and her coat beneath the armor was that of tiger's skin. The most distinguishing feature of the Lancer though was her eyes, which were encircled by a deep redness that was as much war paint as it was vicious burns.

Yet what was it that had the Saber disappointed in her adversary-to-be on the second night of the Holy Grail War? Why, it was the simple fact that though her eyes were nearly closed as she scrutinized the object in her hand, the Lancer wasn't giving Irisviel and the Saber a second's glance as she read what the pair could only assume as a manga. A disgusting one by the title alone, if the Saber could make an accurate guess as she did her best to ignore that little voice in her head that sounded so much like Merlin making another joke at her expense.

The Red Warrior's eyes then opened fully and revealed their luminosity that could make the fires of the Imperial Heavens tremble with envy. The Lancer turned her head and looked at the Saber and her Master in turn before her face was split by a wide toothy grin. "What's up, your Majesty?"

The Saber nearly fell over. "Wh-What?"

"Well, I consider it bad form for royalty to go unacknowledged, especially from one king to another." The Lancer explained, "So again, what's up?"

"I-You… Did you not—?"

"Draw you here? Well of course I did! As flattering as this manga is, creative licensing can only go so far before we run smack dab into utterly bizarre originality." The Lancer twirled the book once in her hand and it vanished from sight before she stood up and stretched, still maintaining a balanced perch atop her staff. "So, you going to fight me in that monkey suit or do you have something more appropriate for your class, Saber?"

It would seem that the Lancer's most prominent skill was keeping the Saber constantly off-balanced, at least by Irisviel's observations. The ivory-haired homunculus wondered if one's eyebrow was meant to twitch that much. "I beg your pardon?"

"Well thanks to the rules of this game we can't go by our names and titles, which in itself is rather stupid if you ask me. If you've managed to surpass all others and stand on the pedestals above Heaven itself you should be able to proclaim it all you'd like, but I made a promise to my Master not to introduce myself fully unless another Servant did so first. Really though, you're not much for the Saber class are you? You've the right callouses on your hands, certainly the steely look in those little gems of yours, and if your scowl gets any firmer I bet we'd be seeing wrinkles but by the Spirits, you are far too adorable to be taken seriously."

Azure light flashed as the wind blew in a fierce gale. Gone was the mundane suit of black silken cloth, replaced now with cloth of the finest of blues and the purest of whites and armor of shining steel. Gripped tightly in her gauntlet-covered hands, was a sword invisible to all, even its wielder, with the only true sign of its presence being the constantly shifting winds. The Saber raised her hidden sword and aimed its hidden glory up at the amused Lancer.

"Say that again." She challenged.

The Lancer's grin returned as she hopped down to the ground and with an idle kick of her foot, spun her staff into her waiting hand and advanced its rotation with incredible speed. "Has anyone ever told you, you're cute when you're angry?"

The cement beneath the Saber's feet ruptured as she launched herself at the Lancer and set herself on cleaving the mocking Servant's head clean off. It would have been easy for her to do so, it _should_ have been easy for her to do so, but every opening she thought to have was blocked by the staff not because of the Lancer's speed but something else. The Saber paid closer attention to the staff and realized too late that she had distracted herself as the weapon came rushing upwards. She leapt back and the staff followed her regardless!

The Saber was launched into the air and knocked back down by the increased length of the Lancer's staff, which was now stretched thirty feet in length. The Saber's impact into the ground left a human shaped crater but as she rose from the dust, she spat a glob of bloodied spittle yet appeared uninjured.

"Surprised?" asked the Lancer. "I don't need to call my Noble Phantasm's name to invoke its power though I admit, what I can do is but a fraction."

The Saber did not react behind the fraction widening of her eyes. _That… could prove troublesome_. While not unheard of, it was rare for Noble Phantasms that were weapons in life to not require an invoking to unleash their powers, great or small. Even her own sword was but a hunk of steel unless she called out its name.

A hunk of mystical steel capable of rendering mundane metals like a hot knife through butter but that's hardly the point.

The blonde-haired Servant raised a hand to her chest and felt the slightest of indentations in her armor. _To have dented magical woven steel… what kind of monstrous strength does Lancer possess?_ The pleasing warmth of healing magic flowed through the Saber's veins and though she did not remove her gaze from the Lancer, she expressed her thanks to Irisviel.

"Oh? Not going down easy are you? Good!" The Lancer twirled her staff in a rapid spin that sent the dusty debris flying from a raging wind. "I wouldn't want to be bored with my first fight in this War!"

Unfortunately, such a climatic battle was not to be as the two Knight Classes were soundly interrupted by the most dramatic of entrances brought upon by the Rider who lived up to his class and then some. Standing proudly upon his chariot driven by a pair of massive oxen, the Rider came crashing down with the lightning that was formed beneath the hooves of the two enormous beasts of burden. The Rider spread his arms wide, head held high as he spoke with the voice of a king addressing his beloved subjects.

"Both of you sheathe your weapons! You are in the presence of a king! I am Iskander, King of Conquerors! I am of the Rider class in this Grail War."

The Saber was openly gaping in surprise at the Servant's bold, if not outright foolish, exclamation while the Lancer at first appeared only mildly so before she started to grin with the glee of one being presented a most golden opportunity.

"What the hell are you thinking, you idiot?!" yelled the Rider's Master as he tugged at the larger man's cloak. A small flick of the finger was enough to silence the young mage's protests.

The Rider looked first to the Lancer and then to the Saber as he spoke, "Fate has brought us together to fight for the Grail. But first there's something I'd like to ask. How about yielding the Grail to me and joining my army? I will treat you both as my friends, and we shall share in the joy of world conquest together!"

If anything, the Saber became even more incredulous at the Rider's gale to ask her, a King of Britain, to lower herself to the rank of subject, but her ire returned with a vengeance not for the King of Conqueror's words but the Lancer's reaction to them.

She was laughing.

"And here, here I had thought myself without any kind of entertainment in this War! You, you have exceeded my expectations, King of Conquerors!" She laughed.

The larger man smiled and asked, "Is that an acceptance?"

"Oh no, no, no, no!" She shook her head. "No, I will not simply yield to you in this War, King of Conquerors! For I am—"

"That is enough Lancer! Do not make a fool of yourself!" An ethereal sounding voice interrupted the Servant who scowled with obvious distaste, a stark contraction to the reaction of Waver Velvet the Master of Rider.

"It-It can't be him…"

"I had wondered what madness enticed you to steal my relic and though it pleases me to see that your thievery was punished accordingly, I find myself surprised. I never would have imagined that you would enter the Holy Grail War… Waver Velvet."

"El-Melloi…" stuttered Waver.

"Perhaps I will tutor you with some extra lessons on the true meaning of Magi killing one another. I'll teach you all about—!"

A sudden sound of metal colliding harshly with bone was followed by the faint sound of a body collapsing atop a steel crate. The Lancer feigned her innocence even as her staff shrunk back to its usual size.

"Oh my, it seems that I've temporarily lost control of my Noble Phantasm. Pity that."

"You… You…" Irisviel was now truly concerned for Saber. That twitch had grown to occupy both eyes. "You would strike your own Master down?!"

"It's not as though I killed him. Besides, I'd no sooner strike my Master than you would your own." The Lancer said, her eyes looking not at Irisviel but up into the shadows. The Saber's grip on her sword tightened at the unspoken message. Somehow, the Lancer knew that Irisviel was not her true Master and was able to notice Kiritsugu's presence in the darkness when even she, his Servant, could not. "Now as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted…"

The Lancer twirled her staff once before she bowed sharply at the waist, her belt unwrapping itself from her waist and revealing itself to be a tail.

A monkey's tail.

"I am the Victorious Fighting Buddha! The Great Sage, Equal of Heaven! The Handsome Monkey King! I am Sun Wukong and I have been summoned into this war as a Servant of the Lancer class!"

"What audacity is this?" The Archer's voice preceded his sparkling entrance as he materialized atop a nearby lamppost. His arms crossed over his chest and his eyes half-lidded, there was no mistaking the disdain in the Golden Hero's voice as he spoke to the gathered Servants below. "Not only do two insolent knaves call themselves kings in my presence but an animal would dare to proclaim itself an equal unto Heaven? Nonsense. I am the one and only Hero King in this Heaven and Earth."

Far from insulted, the Lancer actually appeared bored with the Archer. "And… you would be?"

"Are you questioning me, monkey? Me, the king?! If you cannot discern my identity even in the presence of my glory, then your ignorance shall result in your death!" The air behind the Archer began to ripple as the Gates of Babylon started to answer to their key-master's silent call.

"The weakest dog barks the loudest."

The Gates slammed shut with an almost audible sound before a deathly silence descended upon the docks.

"What. Did. You. Say?"

The Lancer glanced up from where she stood leaning against her staff, one eye opened to lazily gaze up at the murderously scowling Archer.

"I'm not one to talk of arrogance or pride but really, you do prattle on. Yours is obviously an old legend, that I shan't deny you, but so what? Look at us! Look at what we've become in the centuries since we walked this World! The King of Conquerors has become so recognized that there isn't a single person that hasn't heard of the man who nearly conquered the then-known world. The King of Knights has more tales told and re-told by numerous bards who fight tooth and nail on which is the better story to be told!" The Lancer suddenly turned to the Saber, "Speaking of might I recommend the works of Monty Python? I think you'll find it twice as amusing as I."

"And what of you, _ape?_ Is a flea-bitten monkey so easily adored by the modern world?"

"Adored? I am _honored_ by countless generations since the first word of my adventures was spoken, and that was decades before they were put to paper! I've had as many retellings and re-imaginings created in my honor than I have hairs on my tail! The greatest of them will forever stand as an example of its age, the first of a long and ever growing cultural phenomenon known and adored throughout the entire World! A phenomenon known simply as…"

The Lancer took a breath as though to steady her nerves as she uttered a single, powerful word.

"Anime."

Were life truly such a thing, the Lancer was certain that the Saber would have done as many such animated characters had done before and firmly planted her face into the ground.

* * *

_"This is getting dull! Quit fooling around and show me what you got!"_

* * *

The forest outside the grounds of Castle Einzbern is nothing at all like the proper castle located in the heart of the Black Forest of Germany, which seemed to be caught in a perpetual winter and colored little beyond the dryness of tree bark and freshly fallen snow. No, this wood was not the pristine whiteness of a wintry midday, but the dark blackness of a spring night. The air was not clean of scents and it stunk of the blood that painted the forest floor red in sickening waves as the corpses of children were malformed into demonic legions of starfish-like abominations that rent the tranquility with their hellish cries.

"What do you think, Jeanne?" The Caster's bulbous eyes crinkled with his mirth. "Doesn't it bring back memories, Jeanne? Everything is as it was back then. Your noble vigor and dignified air all prove you to be Jeanne d'Arc without a doubt!"

The Saber's grip on her wind shrouded sword tightened to the clenching of her teeth. Was the Caster truly so blind? Was he truly drowning in a sea of madness?

"So why?! Why won't you awaken?" cried the Caster, in a rage. "Do you still believe in God's grace? You still think a miracle will save you from this predicament? How tragic!" The Caster palmed his face suddenly in despair. "Have you forgotten the Battle of Compiègne? Despite all the humiliation you suffered, you're still content with being a puppet of God?!"

Having enough of his deranged drivel, the Saber leapt forth for the attack and was answered back in kind by the legion with ensnaring tentacles that pulled her arms wide and caught her legs in midair. A tentacle lashed out and slowly started to choke the life out of her as the Caster stood back and watched.

A crimson staff spun tightly through the air, rupturing every tentacle that stood in its flight path before it was caught in waiting hands. The Lancer landed before the gasping Saber, smiling like always but there was no mirth in this grin. No, this was a smile that bared elongated canines and made the redness that surrounded her eyes seem almost aflame as her eyes smoldered in their sockets.

Make no mistake the Lancer was not angry.

She was furious.

"Get up Saber. Get up and prove some of your legend to me now! That was hardly the kind of swordsmanship I'd expect from one entitled as the King of Knights!" the Lancer growled, her furious glare never leaving the equally enraged Caster.

"Who are you?! Who gave you permission to interfere?!"

The Saber rose so that she and the Lancer stood back-to-back, their equally petite statures and contrasting schemes of their respected armor making them appear almost as distant relations. In a way, they could very well be for no two figures were so engrossed into legend such as these two who have been summoned to combat in the Fourth Holy Grail War.

"Permission? I'm the Great Sage, an Equal to Heaven itself! I don't need permission from anyone to rid the World of a flagrantly fish-eyed freak like you!"

The Caster screamed in frustration, clawed nails digging into the rat's nest that was his hair, "My prayers, _my_ Holy Grail brought that woman back to life!" He ripped free several locks as he pointed at the Saber. "She belongs to me. Every ounce of flesh, every drop of blood even her soul itself is mine!"

"Well, I hate to break it to you, fish-eyes, but Saber here is the only Servant in this War that I find to be my equal as far as our legends are concerned. Like I'd just let you have your way with her before she and I can meet properly on the battlefield with nothing holding us back!" The Lancer glanced out the corner of her eye at the Saber. "You were holding back right? Because, if you weren't, I'll handle the horde while you deal with fish-eyes over there. One target shouldn't be too much for you."

The blonde-haired Servant scoffed but didn't take the bait as she smirked at the Lancer. "I can slay a hundred of these demons before you manage ten, Lancer!"

"Oh?" The brunette Servant snickered. "Saber's got a bite! Alright then, I'll take that bet but I'm calling dibs on fish-eyes!"

Together, the two charged forth into the fray.

Was it five minutes that went by? Perhaps ten? What did it matter when for however many the two cooperating Servants slew several more rose up in their place? The ground they had gained was lost to them again as they were surrounded on all sides by the legion of abominations.

"Alright, I'm not too egotistical to deny that I've lost track somewhere after you stole that last one from me, which counts as a negative for you by the way. I'd say that makes me the winner but considering we've little to show for it…"

Ignoring the antagonizing words of the Lancer, which she was sincerely beginning to doubt the Servant could not help but speak at every opportunity, "It's that grimoire, Lancer. As long as he holds that Noble Phantasm, the situation won't change."

"Oh? That's it? Well then…" The Lancer's staff started to quiver in her hands before she tossed it skywards with a loud cry, "_Ruyi Jingu Bang!_"

The Caster blinked in surprise as the staff vanished away into the sky above from the force of the Lancer's throw and he cackled madly with glee at the eccentricities of the Servant. The legion swarmed forth in answer to the madman's silent commands whose globular eyes crinkled with mirth even as the moonlight was suddenly vanquished. The insane Servant looked heavenward just in time to see the cause and utter a single, illegible word before the earth was pierced by the Ruyi Jingu Bang's landing.

The Noble Phantasm was as much a staff as a sword is a kitchen knife and even that comparison was incredibly pale. The Ruyi Jingu Bang, the one weapon that was as tantamount to Sun Wukong's legend as Excalibur is to King Arthur, was originally crafted for a singular purpose, it was to be the pillar that both measured the depths of the oceans and hardened the earth at the abysmal depths. As such, at its true shape and size it was no mere thing as a staff.

It was a pillar that stretched upwards and pierced the cloudy floor of the Heavens.

The legion were frozen in mid-attack before they exploded into a bloodied mist as their crafter and master had departed with due haste from being squashed out of existence. The Lancer cursed under her breath and stepped over the crimson pools as clouds gathered beneath her feet, keeping her airborne above the messes made by the rapid decompressions of the hellion horde. She placed a hand upon Ruyi Jingu Bang who instantly shrunk down to the width of an ordinary staff but maintained half of its unbelievable height.

The Lancer glanced to the left and brought her staff down so that it was perpendicular to the earth before she smirked and shrunk it down to the size of a pen. Tucking it behind her ear, she turned and noticed the Saber's incredulous stare.

"Catching flies?"

The Saber's mouth shut with a snap. Her eyes narrowed and though she was loath to do so just after a truce born of mutual need, raised her sword to the opposing Servant. "Now that the Caster has been slain—"

"It's never that easy." The Lancer interrupted her. "The thing with villains like that? They don't die easily and when they do it's never for long. Trust me, he'll back and he'll do far worse than what he's done tonight." The crimson-armored Servant rose higher into the air, looking down upon her azure counterpart. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got an idiot to fetch."

* * *

_"You must think five hundred years is a long time. You must think that I will bow and humbly beg for mercy, but my lifespan is as long as the life of Heaven! I'll simply nap for five hundred years! Bwahahaha…!"_

* * *

Lying prone and nearly fully paralyzed by agony's foul grip alone, the once great and powerful Kayneth Archibald El-Melloi was pathetic sight to behold. Not that Kiritsugu really cared much of his targets beyond what was necessary to ensure their demise. Yet for all his crimes, Kiritsugu was not completely without mercy and no matter the harm that Kayneth had done to his wife's lovely home, the man infamously known as the Magus Killer would live up to his title and rid the man of pain the only way he knew how.

The barrel was loaded and the hammer cocked back.

So what was stopping him?

A slight motion of the wrist and he fired. The bullet shot forth and blew past the Lancer who made no move to dodge. The wind of the bullet's passing ruffled her short locks but did little to deter her burning gaze from Kiritsugu Emiya, the true Master of the Saber. The Lancer was unarmed, which Kiritsugu knew could immediately be rectified, and she had her arms crossed over her chest while her tail moved as it was want to do behind her. She was smiling just as she always did but it was an empty smile, a smile born from years, no _centuries_, of the motion that to not smile was a physical effort.

"Just so that you know, Saber didn't let me go willingly. I gave her something to think about when it comes to the slaying of villains, a lesson I'm sure you've done your absolute best to avoid speaking with her about."

The gun remained poised while eyes cold as ice and a face as unmoving as stone remained fixated upon her.

"You know me, Master of Saber. You know me better than you do the King of Knights and not because of our shared traits, particularly our mistaken genders. There are few in the entirety of the World who has not heard tell of either of us but you? Oh, you know us almost as we do, better some could argue. You read our stories, listened with rapt ears and eager eyes to our tales of heroic deeds, majestic victories, and unbelievable prowess against evil in all its forms. Do you know how I know this?

"Because I have seen you, Kiritsugu Emiya."

No emotion, no sign that the words struck anything within him but the tiniest narrowing of the eyes, a flicker of motion towards the burn marks surrounding the Lancer's own.

She chuckled, having caught the sign easily. She raised a hand and pressed it gently against the reddened flesh. "Ah, I had almost forgotten. Do you know, at times I almost forget I have these eyes… Huǒyǎn-jīnjīng: The Mystic Eyes of Evil Detection. Burnt alive for forty-nine days and forty-nine nights, the flames of Heaven itself did little harm to me, but the smoke? Ah, that stung like a thousand hornets day and night. Yet the pain was worth it I suppose. With these eyes, I can see evil no matter the form that it takes. It's why I didn't try and stop Kayneth from attacking you as he did."

She glanced down at Kayneth and saw that the man had at last bled out and was dead where he lay. Hardly a fitting end for such a man but what did honor or respect have to do with a mage, a _teacher_, who brought nothing but fear and self-loathing to the hearts of his students?

"Yet… when I look at you, Kiritsugu." She looked back up into the eyes of the Magus Killer. "I see something I haven't seen in a long, _long_ while. Evil might have touched you, evil might have stained the fabrics of your very soul, but it does not rule you. You do not do what you do in evil's name but in its opposite. You do what you do not because it's easy or difficult, but because you honestly believe that if one such person must exist to do such acts in the name of good, then by all means, there is no one better suited to do it than yourself. That is what I see when my eyes fall upon you.

"Scary, isn't it?"

"… What else?" Kiritsugu spoke up at last.

"Hmmm?"

"You said that the mistaken gender was not all that you shared with Saber. What else could you and her possibly share?"

"… Heh, I should have known you'd pick up on that. Out of everyone that has ever adored my legend, I always did like you the best. I remember what you said then, that night so many years ago when you first finished reading my legend. _I want to be a hero of justice_."

A bullet blasted on the other side of the Lancer's head but she showed no surprise, only a kind of melancholy as she regarded the Magus Killer.

"The Throne does not offer much in the way of perks, to denizens and visitors alike, but one… boon, I suppose you could call it is that us heroes get to see how our legends shape the World and its people. Why do you think I managed to irritate his majesty, the Archer, so easily? His is a legend barely known and remembered beyond gaming conventions and the like. That is how I truly know you beyond what I see, Kiritsugu Emiya. Because though my legend was hardly the guiding light to what you have become, it was mine that first set you upon this path towards becoming a hero, and honestly? I could not be prouder of myself that such a man was born in this day and age, a man that will someday sit beside us upon the Throne though he may think himself otherwise.

"But in regards to your question… You wanted to know what else is common between the King of Knights and the Great Sage, Equal to Heaven? Well I'm afraid that's between the King and I." She paused, blinking for a moment before chuckling. "Oh, there's a good pun. Anyway, if you ever work up the courage to actually converse with your Servant, might I suggest asking her a simple question? Ask her, what do sleeping heroes dream?"

She vanished in a haze of shimmering jade sparkles, leaving Kiritsugu alone with his thoughts. He slowly brought down his gun and gazed at the cooling body of his latest victim, watching in silence as the blood spread further upon the floor. The Lancer… _the_ Sun Wukong, thought him a hero worthy of ascending to the Throne?

"Preposterous."

* * *

**Through the next gazing of the Kaleidoscope...**

_"The Dark"_

* * *

**Statistics:**

**Class:** Lancer  
**Identity:** Sun Wukong  
**Basic Stats:**  
_Alignment:_ Chaotic Good  
_Noble Phantasms: _A++_  
Strength:_ A – EX**  
_Mana:_ A – D**  
_Endurance:_ A – EX**  
_Agility:_ A – C**  
_Luck:_ E

**Class Skills:  
**_Independent Action: _A_  
Magic Resistance:_ B – A**

**Personal Skills:  
**_Animal Dialogue:_ A_  
Bravery: _A  
_Chinese Martial Arts:_ A+++_  
Monstrous Strength:_ A – EX**  
_Mystic Eyes:_ A+*  
_Shapeshifting:_ A

*See Huǒyǎn-jīnjīng: The Mystic Eyes of Evil Detection  
**See Shapeshifting

**Noble Phantasms:**  
_Ruyi Jingu Bang: Compliant Golden Pillar__:_ A  
_Huǒyǎn-jīnjīng: The Mystic Eyes of Evil Detection:_ A+  
_Ǒusībùyúnlǚ: The Cloud Stepping Sandals: _B

Exposition:  
**_Shapeshifting:_** A  
Sun Wukong is a master of seventy-two different transformations ranging from a miniscule fly to a monstrous Asian Liung. Yet, despite the incredibly high ranking and number of transformations, Wukong must revert to her natural form before assuming another shape. It should also be noted that her stats do not change, which means she's no less dangerous as a mouse than she is in her natural form. However, there is one form that dramatically alters her power, a form simply called… the Oozaru.

**_Ruyi Jingu Bang: Compliant Golden Pillar:_** A  
Sun Wukong's weapon of choice, it was originally used by Dà-Yǔ to measure ocean depth and later became the "Pillar that pacifies the oceans", a treasure of Ao Guang the Dragon-King of the Eastern Seas. As an Anti-Unit Noble Phantasm, _Ruyi Jingu Bang_ has the ability to change its size to whatever Wukong wishes, from being large enough to touch the sky to small enough to fit behind her ear. Ruyi Jingu Bang can also multiply itself, but all multiples will be one rank lower than the original. Passively, Wukong can control Ruyi Jingu Bang remotely, summoning it to her hand or make it alter it length but not its width. Finally, Ruyi Jinju Bang has the ability to manipulate water if it is connected to the ocean.

**_Huǒyǎn-jīnjīng: The Mystic Eyes of Evil Detection:_** A+  
Anti-Unit, B - Allows Lancer to identify evil no matter what form it takes; however, it also causes smoke to sting her eyes to such a degree that she may become incapable of seeing until she is cleared of the smoke. Sun Wukong acquired this ability after Lao Tzu trapped her in his cauldron for 49 days, attempting to distill her as punishment. She emerged from the cauldron not just with an increased endurance, but eyes forever altered by the flames of the Imperial Heaven.

**_Ǒusībùyúnlǚ: The Cloud Stepping Sandals:_** B  
Allows Lancer to walk on air, but costs a fairly moderate amount of prana while in use. Contrary to the name, it is not the shoes themselves that allow Sun Wukong to truly soar through the air but a cloud that lets her fly with all four winds at her back.

* * *

**Author's Side-note:** Statistics for this Servant brought to you again by Farmer Kyle, who keeps making this look easy!


	6. OMAKE: The Samurai

**DISCLAIMER:** All copyrighted materials belong to their respected owners.

* * *

Saber… masters of swords whose own legends often surpass beyond they who wield them. Lancer… wielders of spears, lances, any and all weapons that provide the extra reach that make striking them down all but impossible. Archer… the true masters of the long-range weaponry who possess such incredible strength of will that they virtually become their own masters. Rider… they who've mastered their mounts to such a degree that even upon their own feet they are a passing blur to untrained eyes. Caster… magicians, sorcerers, witches, and warlocks, they are the artisans of the magical arts, purveyors of spells and enchantments long lost to modern time and its scientific convention. Berserker… the mad dogs of war whose sheer physical might is rivaled only by their inhuman madness… Assassin… the shadow walkers who move silent and unseen by their victims until their blades are buried to the hilt in their heart.

Fourteen combatants in all, the seven Masters and the seven Servants whom they call forth from the Throne of Heroes to fight and kill to attain that which was named as the Holy Grail, that their wishes may be granted, one to the living and one to the dead. An absolute balance, a perfected measure of control… but a war is a war, and like all rules that have come before and like so many that will follow, they are broken.

Shattered.

Ignored.

Yet no higher price could be paid by the breaking of the simplest of rules for there, in the Holy Grail, existed something of… a loophole. Seven Masters and seven Servants, fourteen combatants in all. No more, no less.

Until the other classes were revealed… until one class was exploited.

Avenger… they whose lives were spent in the name of vengeance be it for themselves or others… It is not a true class, a substitute and nothing more. It was never meant to be used for few heroes of the past could fill the standard, and rare was it that the gifts of being an Avenger were welcomed. Summoned from frustration and slaughtered before the folly could be discovered, that which whom was called as Avenger was he who had, in life, been a sacrifice against all that is sin, all that is evil, all that is abhorrent of mankind. In his demise as a Servant, he had done what he had in life and so it was not the soul of an innocent, a soul of an avenging hero that was swept into the Holy Grail.

No.

What it was… what it is…

It is Sin.

It is Evil.

It is everything that mankind hates, loathes, and abhors about itself… all this and so much more was poured into the Holy Grail until that which it had been was no more. There was no holiness to this blackened Grail. The hellish monstrosity summoned forth by Avenger saw to that quite well. Yet… even in the deepest of darkness… there can be a spark, a tiny speck, of light that still shines, a soul willingly sacrificed so that a shared dream may together be realized.

The Grail has become corrupted… controlled by the Evils of the World but there is enough of its core, of _her_ original self, that retains, that remembers…

That all rules are made to be broken… and perhaps, just perhaps… a bloodied warrior that had been consumed by vengeance was necessary… to bring an end to this travesty…

No matter the cost…

* * *

_**From Across The Throne Of Heroes  
Bonus Collaboration!**_

_"The Samurai"  
__Original Story by The Infamous Man  
Beta-Draft/Servant Sheet by Farmer Kyle  
Gamma-Draft by Corvus no Genmu_

* * *

Kiritsugu Emiya is not a good man, by any means.

He has taken too many lives to be considered a saint.

However, for every life he took, ten more would continue to live. By killing the few he saved the many.

That is the kind of man he is, a man who wants to save as many lives as possible no matter the cost it may put on his life, his heart… or his soul.

That is why he is here.

Standing beside the pale-skinned beauty that was both his wife and mother of his dearest daughter, Irisviel von Einzbern, the man looked over the summoning array one last time. He had been hired by the Einzbern family to compete in the Holy Grail War in their name and achieve the victory they coveted and never attained. So great was their desire to win that they would let him, an outsider, attain his wish if it meant their victory at last.

They were unknowingly playing to Kiritsugu's own dream, to save the world from conflict.

The people he will kill during the War would be the last lives taken from this world.

Even if his wife was to be the last life to be murdered… He would not, he _could not_ falter.

The chamber erupted with light as the last words of the Summoning Mantra were uttered. Kiritsugu and Irisviel shielded their eyes from the brightening light of the summoning but as quickly as the light had begun to shine like the birthing of a star, it was gone with the sudden darkness of a black hole. Kiritsugu lowered his arm and saw the Servant that he summoned.

"This is…"

Kiritsugu heard his wife gasp in shock. He could not blame her. The being in front of him did not hold any regal air, nor did he look anywhere close to what King Arthur was described as in the legends. No, the person in front of him was a contradiction. It was a dark-skinned man, possibly from African descent, that wore Japanese-style clothing that bore resemblance to a samurai's hakama. However, the bottom of his pants seemed to be cropped up, showing his feet, which wore sandals that had some rubber padding under them. He also wore two small loop earrings on the end of his ears, and two big silver loops on his wrists. His hair was… strange.

It was a ridiculously huge afro, and Kiritsugu could also see that it had a greenish tint to it. However, two things caught his eye the most. Tied to the man's forehead was a headband that had the Kanji for "number" on the left side, a red circle in the middle, and two dash lines going horizontally on the right side while the two long ends fluttered in a nonexistent wind. Gripped in the man's left hand was a katana that had a crimson red sheath, a square bronze guard, red cloth covering the handle, and at the end of the handle was a silver circle pendant dangling in the air.

Opening his eyes, the man spoke a simple question in a low, quiet voice. "Are you my Master?"

They say that the eyes of a man are the mirror to the depths of his soul.

If that truly is the case, then the soul in the Servant in front of Kiritsugu has been dead for some time.

Kiritsugu did not know how this happened, especially since he had used Avalon as the catalyst for his summoning. King Arthur should have been summoned, or another who bore an intimate connection to his sword's sheath. But this man…

… This changed too much.

Without a word, Kiritsugu turned around and began to walk towards the door.

"Kiritsugu?" Irisviel asked in a shocked voice, the Servant not even reacting as Kiritsugu moved. Was her husband upset that they did not summon the Heroic Spirit that they intended to? Understandable, but still…

"Oh, now that is just cold!" A new voice shouted, making Kiritsugu turn to see another person in the room. It was a lanky, short, dark-skinned man wearing ninja-style clothing with a long dark red scarf, and red sunglasses with silver lenses that hid his eyes. Clenched between his teeth was a lit stick, most likely with tobacco inside, and like the Servant, he had a ridiculously large afro. But instead of being dark green, it was white. Not only that, but the man's face looked strangely similar to the Servant's own to such a degree they could almost be called twins. He was hanging on one of the arched overheads, rocking back and forth as he grinned down at Kiritsugu. "Never knew that there would be the day that someone just walks away from you without a word, huh Afro? Bet you don't like being dissed now!"

"Um…" Irisviel began, making the man turn his head towards her. "Who are you?"

"Now look at we got here~!" The man said, interest in his voice as he jumped off the pew and in front of Irisviel. "Now, gotta say! If I get to see your fine ass around, hangin' out with that boy won't be so bad!" Irisviel slightly blushed at the comment, while Kiritsugu's hand began to move towards his hidden firearm. "Ah shit! Don't bring out the heat man! I don't wanna die!" The man suddenly shouted while throwing his arms to cover his face, making Kiritsugu freeze up. How did he…? "Now, to answer you pretty lady. I'm this…" The man began, seeming to notice Kiritsugu not trying to draw his gun before jabbing his finger in the Servant's direction. "Motherfucker's Noble Phantasm, or whatever the fuck it's called! Name's _Ninja-Ninja_!"

"A living Noble Phantasm?" Irisviel said in wonder as she gazed at the Servant, who had kept silent during the whole exchange. "Just what kind of Servant are you?"

"You mean you haven't been able to tell from the big-ass sword he's carryin' around?" Ninja-Ninja asked while grinning as he pointed at the Servant. "This man here's the one an' only Servant Saber!"

* * *

_"It's… unfortunate that you had to see this boy. This moment will always haunt you. You'll be consumed by hatred for me. Challenge me! When you're ready to duel a_**_god_****_!_**_"_

* * *

Irisviel smiled as she set down the tea set as the Saber continued to stare out the window, watching Kiritsugu play with their daughter Illyasviel in the forest surrounding the manor. The Servant had not spoken anymore than two words since being summoned, and while Kiritsugu had been avoiding the Saber, Irisviel hoped to form a good relationship with him. But it was a bit difficult when the Saber did not really have the desire to open up.

Oh well, Irisviel was always one to take a challenge.

"Does it surprise you?" Irisviel asked, making Saber blink but not answer her. "I know that Kiritsugu hasn't been very… friendly since your summoning. But you have to understand that you were not what we were expecting."

"Oh, so the guy's dissin us 'cause he's having a little hissy-fit?" Ninja-Ninja asked, now appearing behind Irisviel and eying the tray. "Those the little tea-cookie things with the sugar an' shit? Don't mind if I do!" He then grabbed and shoved several of them into his mouth before chewing on them. Quite disgustingly, with his mouth open.

Irisviel had to admit that Ninja-Ninja was more than a little rude and annoying. If the homunculus had to sum up the odd Noble Phantasm, it would be that he was the complete opposite of the Saber. He was very disrespectful, came and went as he pleased since he was summoned with the Saber, and even openly lusted after her despite her telling him that she was married to Kiritsugu. While the compliments were flattering at first, now they were just irritating.

And judging from the slight twitches of Saber's face, she could tell that he thought so as well.

"Gotta admit Afro, this place is _crazy__!_" Ninja-Ninja shouted, now leaping onto a chair and crouching on the seat. "The place is a fuckin' castle, there's snow everywhere outside, and there are all these maid babes servin' us everything! I mean, sure they're kinda freaky what with the lack of any human expression an' shit. Hell, they remind me of you, now ain't that a scary thought? But you know what they say about the quiet ones! Bet we can ask for a little "happy ending" before…"

"Shut up." Saber said, making Ninja-Ninja freeze before throwing his hands up in exasperation.

"Fine man, but you know if you don't stop dissin' me I'm going to stop followin' your ass around." Ninja-Ninja then leapt off the chair and headed for the door. "Alright, I'm goin' to see if I can get my jimmy waxed from one of those maids! Meet you in like, an hour or two!"

As he left the room, Saber turned to her and muttered, "Sorry."

Irisviel gave a strained smile before sighing, "It's fine, don't worry. However, I have to say that your Noble Phantasm is a bit…" She struggled to find a word that wasn't rude. She was a lady after all. "… Strange."

Saber did not reply, not that Irisviel expected him too. After all, he had been fairly quiet so far. Why become talkative now? Instead, Irisviel motioned to the teapot and cups before saying, "Help yourself Saber! I can't drink all this tea alone after all."

Saber nodded ever so slightly before walking in front of the tea set, pouring himself a cup. He did not add any sugar, but did place a single cookie on a plate before attempting to kneel on the floor.

"No, no! There's no need for that Saber! There's another chair right there!" Irisviel declared before motioning to the chair across from her, only for the Saber to give her a blank look. Then it hit her. One of the books Kiritsugu showed her was about samurai, and one fact said that it was tradition for them to eat on their knees. She believed that it had something to do with honor…

"Ah, that's right…" Irisviel muttered before giving a smile to the Saber with her eyes closed. "I forgot that you're not like me Saber. You can eat however you want, but know that my offer still stands!" Saber nodded before going on his knees and beginning to sip on the tea in silence.

"You know…" Irisviel mentioned, making the Saber stop drinking. "My husband, he truly loves these times with Illyasviel. I remember this one time that we all went in the woods together to look for the walnut shoots. Illyasviel had so much fun that day…" Irisviel sighed as she looked out the window again. "I'm worried about her. She's going to be lonely while Kiritsugu and I are away in his home country…"

The Saber said nothing in reply to this, instead picking up his small cookie and taking a little bite out of it before setting it down. Irisviel blinked at this reaction. The man _really_ didn't talk that much, did he?

The door then swung open, making Irisviel turn to see Illyasviel beaming in her purple blouse and white skirt while holding a small, brown teddy bear with a slightly oversized head. It was something that Kiritsugu got her on one of his trips and a constant companion never to be seen far from the little girl's firm embrace. Irisviel noticed that Saber did not react much to the sudden intrusion, except for slightly opening his eyes and looking at Illyasviel.

"Mama! Guess what?" Illyasviel asked, running towards Irisviel before jumping on her lap and looking up to Irisviel with her beaming red eyes. "I won! While we were getting back home, Kiritsugu missed a bunch and I got more points than him!" Illyasviel then giggled while hugging the bear even tighter, her chin now on top of the bear's head. Illyasviel then looked towards at Saber with wonder in her eyes. "Mama, who's that?"

"Oh! This is a… friend of Kiritsugu's!" Irisviel said quickly, not wishing to reveal anything to her daughter, before looking at the Servant. "Saber, this is my daughter Illyasviel."

"…Hi." Saber spoke, making Illyasviel blink before she giggled.

"You're shy, aren't you?" Illyasviel asked, then looking at Saber's hair and beginning to giggle even harder. "Your hair's funny!"

"Nice to meet you too." Saber shot back in his usual monotone, but Irisviel could now tell that it had a hint of annoyance. Irisviel mentally smirked; looks like Saber was just a _teensy_ bit sensitive about his hair. She then blinked as she noticed Saber's eyes slightly narrowed, staring intently at the bear in Illyasviel's arms.

_I don't understand. Why is Saber bothered by a teddy bear?_

* * *

_"What have you done!? He's dead and you…! You chose revenge! Over our master… over _**_everyone_**_! We're your family… WHY!?"_

* * *

Irisviel smiled as she got out of the airplane and began walking down the steps to the ground. She stopped as a breeze passed by, whipping her hair and making her stop as she looked out while the sun's warm light beamed down on her face.

"So, this is where Kiritsugu was born…" Irisviel muttered happily before looking back at her "bodyguard". "Did you enjoy the ride through the sky, Saber?"

The Saber's former clothing was gone now, instead replaced by a completely black suit and a dark grey undershirt. The headband was gone as well, giving clear view of Saber's ("Slightly big, yo!") forehead, and his sword was also gone from view, astralized like his former clothes so as to not cause a panic due to Japan's heavy restriction on weapons.

"Fine." Saber muttered as he looked down, his afro swaying slightly from the wind as well.

Irisviel slightly giggled at the sight, "I guess something like riding on an airplane wouldn't bother a Servant much. After all, I suppose you've faced a lot more scary things in life."

The Saber nodded before he began to walk down the steps and Irisviel continued on ahead of him. Their ride, a limo with a driver that Kirtsugu trusted, was waiting for them. She got on the left side while the Saber entered in the right side. As they drove off, Irisviel was slightly irked by the speed they were driving at, which was far too slow for her tastes. But then again, she was a bit biased since she loved going fast whenever she drove a car during Kiritsugu's lessons. That annoyance however, was quickly dispersed as they entered the main shopping district of Fuyuki City. The people were walking on the sidewalks, chatting animatedly as they went about their business.

"The city is so alive!" Irisviel gushed before she looked at the Saber, who looked slightly _troubled _by something. Well, perhaps she could ease his mind a bit. "Don't worry, I'm sure that Kiritsugu is fine. After all, he arrived here earlier than us and brought your Noble Phantasm with him. I'm sure that he will make sure that Kiritsugu will be safe! Until then, we can enjoy ourselves!"

It was true that Kiritsugu had left for Fuyuki City twelve hours earlier than they did with Ninja-Ninja in tow. Apparently, the Saber's Master had seen a use in the strange Noble Phantasm that might as well have been the Servant Assassin, and brought him so that they could spy on the other Masters before she and the Saber arrived.

While Irisviel worried for her husband, she was also confident that he would remain safe.

Though there was a tiny, wicked part of her that silently hoped that Ninja-Ninja's behavior would get on her husband's last nerve…

"Oh look! One of those sushi stands!" Irisviel shouted, her face literally plastered on the window as the car passed by the thing that had most recently caught her interest. She then looked at Saber before blushing slightly and saying in a small, embarrassed voice, "I'm sorry if I seem strange, but you see… this is my first time out of the castle."

"Hm?" Saber hummed as he turned his head towards her, looking at her with eyes showing more than just his usual apathy. It seemed like her confession had grabbed his full interest.

Seeing this, the homunculus continued. "You see, I was made as the container for the Holy Grail, so my… father… didn't let me outside." Irisviel explained, now looking at Saber with a small, sad smile on her face. "But, it wasn't like I was ignorant of it! Kiritsugu got me a lot of movies, books, pictures, and other things to teach me about the outside world. But this is the first time I've actually seen it…"

The Saber looked at her for a moment more before he turned his head to the driver and muttered, "Stop the car."

The driver parked the car to the side of the road, making Irisviel blink before asking, "Saber?" The Servant said nothing as he got out of the car from his side, walked over to her side, and opened the door. Irisviel looked at him in surprise for a moment before smiling.

It seemed like the Saber wanted to fulfill her wish.

"Alright, let's go exploring!" Irisviel declared as she got out of the car, put on her cap, and ran to the driver before handing him a few yen notes. As he drove off, Irisviel began walking down the street, smiling at everything while Saber followed right behind her, his hands in his pockets. "Okay, we should go see…" She then stopped before turning around and seeing the Saber walking into a building. Looking at the sign, Irisviel saw it proclaim the place as a bar. "Saber?" Irisviel asked after the Servant before quickly following inside. Looking around, she quickly found the Saber standing before the bar counter, the barkeep looking slightly intimidated by the afro-haired Servant.

"Lemonade." Saber muttered in a dead-serious tone as he glared at the man. "Ice cold."

"A-all we got is the h-hard stuff." The barkeep stuttered, really not wanting for this foreigner to cause trouble.

"Hmm." Saber grumbled, narrowing his eyes at the man, before giving his gruff assent "Fine."

The barkeep shakily nodded before nervously turning around to fulfill the order. Grabbing a glass and filling it with ice, he grabbed a bottle of the requested beverage and poured it in. As soon as the glass was filled, he placed the drink on the counter in front of the Saber who dug out some yen notes from his pocket and put them on the counter before grabbing the drink, throwing it back and guzzling it down, some of it coming down from the edges of his mouth.

"Huh…" Irisviel muttered as she watched the Saber slam the glass back down with a resounding thunk. _I guess he was thirsty…_

* * *

_"I can't! I can't do it anymore! To me, you're still that same boy from those wonderful times so long ago!"_

* * *

Kirtsugu let Maiya's lips touch his, allowing her to kiss him in order to ease his grief. He knew he was betraying his wife by doing this, and had betrayed her many times before by actually having empty sex with his female assistant and protégé, but it was practice. Practice for the pain he would feel when he did kill her to get the Grail.

He knew it had to be the saddest excuse of self-torture but it did not matter.

"Well, well, well! Look at what we have here!" A voice shouted, making Maiya whip around and aim her gun at Ninja-Ninja, who was lying down on the bed with a stick of tobacco in his mouth. "Ah Lord! Not again!" Ninja-Ninja shouted, jumping from the bed to the ground, grabbing a nearby lamp on the way, and using the light fixture as a method to shield himself. "The fuck is with you guys and guns?"

"Maiya, don't. He is Saber's Noble Phantasm." Kiritsugu ordered, making Maiya slowly lower her gun. As soon as that happened, Ninja-Ninja put down the lamp and jumped back on the bed. Maiya backed away from her master and headed to the pile of papers that contained all of the intelligence she had gathered, readying her report for when her lover would ask for it.

"Yeah, yeah, glad we could clear that up." The afro-sporting ninja dismissed, even physically waving it off. "Now correct me if I'm wrong…" a smirking Ninja-Ninja began, before taking a big drag of his cancer stick before taking it out of his mouth, ashes falling from it on to the bed as he exhaled the smoke from his nose. "… But isn't cheating on your wife kind'da bad thing? Don't get me wrong, this girl here is a fine piece of ass herself, but is it _really_ right to cheat on that red-eyed beauty of yours? I don't think she'd like it all that much if she found out." He jumped off the bed again, this time landing so that he was face to face with Kiritsugu.

The action caused Maiya to nearly grab her gun again, but did no more when she saw Kiritsugu standing unflinchingly before the Noble Phantasm's scrutiny. Taking another drag of his tobacco roll, Ninja-Ninja blew the smoke out his mouth and straight into Kirtsugu's face. The man didn't blink, though his eyes did narrow at the obvious provocation by the Noble Phantasm. "You see this is why stayin' single is the life! You never have'ta deal with all this…"

"Report." Kiritsugu ordered, making Ninja-Ninja stop before shaking his head with a sigh. The sentient Noble Phantasm walked away from the man and sat on the edge of the bed, sticking the roll in his mouth and looking at up at the ceiling.

"Guess you don't like listenin' to people either." Ninja-Ninja muttered before looking at Kiritsugu. "All I found when you kicked my ass out was some blonde motherfucker carving up Assassin like a turkey."

"Tohsaka's Servant…" Kiritsugu muttered, before looking at the TV, which showed a clouded up picture of Assassin being killed. He had just been contemplating the idea that Assassin's death had been planned. That it was a part of a bigger picture, and that maybe it was just a _too_ convenient…

Never mind the sheer idiocy of a Servant specializing in silent kills from behind making a frontal assault…

"Yeah, he was wearin' all this gold bling on him! Kept throwing these swords, spears, hammers, all kinds'a shit! Had to get outta there before he tried to shishkabob me too!" Ninja-Ninja then crossed his arms before muttering, "Sounded like an arrogant son offa bitch, but that fucker's a strong one! You send Afro after him straight up, he's takin' a dirt nap!"

"…Report your findings to Irisviel, but stay out of sight." Kiritsugu ordered, making Ninja-Ninja click his tongue.

"Man, whatever. Was getting tired of followin' your ass anyway." Ninja-Ninja complained but complied, walking to the window. Opening it and crawling onto the windowsill, he turned around just enough to eye Maiya with a lecherous grin. "'Cept you baby, I'll follow yo ass any time. Call me!" Making the "call me" hand sign, he dropped out of sight. Maiya walked over to the window after a moment, looking out into the city below for a second before closing it. Kiritsugu noticed a very subtle tick above her eye and sighed.

While the Noble Phantasm had its uses, it was more than annoying. If he had summoned King Arthur like he had planned, things would have been much, _much_ simpler…

* * *

"_This has been a long time coming; I've done all I can. See, me and him, we ain't friends per se. I've just been hanging out, looking for a little action."_

* * *

Irisviel laughed as the cold seawater splashed on her bare feet. She had read and watched so much about beaches; her joy at finally experiencing one firsthand was boundless.

"Oh, I wish I could be here forever…" sighed Irisviel as she looked over to the Saber, her boots by his feet. The Servant's eyes were half-lidded, and in his mouth was a lit cigarette whose smoke lazily went into the night sky. "Are you okay, Saber?" Irisviel asked, now fully turning to the Servant. "You look… sad."

That was an understatement. The Servant's shoulders were slightly down and his head was a bit drooped. And while that wouldn't tip-off most people, she could see it in his eyes.

The same pain and sadness that was in Kiritsugu's eyes…

"…I'm fine." The Saber muttered as he took out the cigarette and blew out some smoke. Irisviel frowned at the action; he was obviously not "fine". But it was obvious that he didn't wish to talk about what was making him upset.

"Tell me, do you like the sea?" Irisviel asked, now turning to the ocean that reflected the moon and glittered from its light. "I mean this is my first time here, so of course I love it. But you have lived outside far more than I have, so…"

The Saber simply shook his head before taking another drag of his cigarette, not saying another word. Irisviel sighed at the Servant's lack of communication. Despite that he was talking a bit more than when he was first summoned, it was still hard to make him say anything more than a few words.

"Aw common Afro!" A voice shouted, making Irisviel turn around to see Ninja-Ninja leaning on the Saber with his left hand on the Saber's right shoulder. "Stop being such a killjoy man! Just 'cause you killed a guy by the ocean doesn't mean that you gotta hate it!" Ninja-Ninja then seemed to think about it for a moment before correcting his statement with, "Well… your peeps did die by it, so I can kinda get why you don't wanna be anywhere near it…"

"What are you doing here?" Irisviel asked the Noble Phantasm, making it turn to her. "Shouldn't you be with Kiritsugu? Is something wrong with him?"

"Guy blew me off and told me to come to ya!" Ninja-Ninja replied in an annoyed tone while crossing his arms. "Man Afro, I never knew that there could be a guy that dissed me more than you do! And man, you should have seen that honey he was with!"

"Honey?" Irisviel muttered with narrowed eyes. Was he talking about Kiritsugu's assistant, Maiya? She hadn't seen the woman except from pictures, and she had to admit that the woman was pretty. _I guess Kiritsugu brought her to aid us._

"If you think that's crazy, wait till I tell ya what he was doin' with her!" Ninja-Ninja laughed out, making Irisviel blink. "He was…" Ninja-Ninja stopped before looking to the right towards the docks that were in the distance. "Oh, you gotta be kidding me…"

"A hostile Servant is near." Irisviel muttered before looking at the Saber, who nodded in response. She smiled before saying, "He's determined the battlefield he wishes to fight in. Perhaps we should accept his invitation?"

"AH _HELL_ NO!" Ninja-Ninja shouted, jumping in front of Irisviel and Saber. "Look man, this has TRAP written all over it, and in big ol' capitals! If you go there, who's to say that fucker won't jump you from behind? You ain't stupid enough to fall for this shit again, are ya?" The Saber just seemed to glare at Ninja-Ninja, who slapped his forehead. "Brother, I swear to God that you… Look man, I know you have some crazy skills an' all, but if you go there you could lose! I mean, these guys are bonafide heroes man! They're probably as big of bad-asses as you! Who's to say that one won't put ya six feet under? I mean…"

"Shut up." The Saber muttered, making Ninja-Ninja freeze before throwing his hands up in exasperation.

"Geez, you're one fuckin' stubborn samurai!" Ninja-Ninja complained before he put his hands on his face. "Seriously man, why doesn't anybody listen to me?" He then blinked at the silence he was receiving before looking up and noticing Irisviel and the Saber were gone. "Afro?" He then looked behind him to see the pair already beginning to walk down the beach towards the docks. "Come on man, wait up!" Ninja-Ninja shouted before running after the two.

* * *

_"You don't know how long I've waited… To avenge the deaths of those who LOVED AND TRUSTED YOU!"_

* * *

Before they had entered the docks proper, Ninja-Ninja had separated from them and disappeared into the shadows, giving one last warning to the Servant and pseudo-Master. "You two be careful now, don't go dyin' on me."

Just as they reached the center of the of area, a smooth baritone voice rang out. "How nice of you to come. All of those who were parading around today in the town have only cowered away, fortifying their positions." A man materialized off to the side of the road, walking to the middle, as he continued to speak. "You are the only one of valor who answered my invitation."

Examining the man, his odd green bodysuit, his two wrapped spears, even his presence, there was no doubt he was a Servant of the Lance.

Turning to face them, the handsome Lancer smirked. "That fighting spirit... Am I correct in thinking you are Saber?"

But as the Lancer continued to examine the Servant before him, _truly_ seeing the swordsman, his eyes narrowed. The aura about the Saber was dark, a mixture of negative emotions; regret, loneliness, hatred, and… self-loathing? But the thing that struck Lancer the most were the Servant's eyes.

The Lancer, during his life when he was a man named Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, had fought in many wars. He had killed many men in the name of his lord. But in every war, there was always at least one person like the man in front of him.

A murderer.

One who had given up his own soul for selfish reasons, fighting for neither a lord nor a loved one, but for themselves.

A monster that had taken the lives of hundreds of people, the innocent and guilty alike, merely because they had stood in his way.

The Servant of the Sword only nodded in response, confirming his identity as the Saber. This only made the Lancer tighten his grip on his disguised spears.

"How could a man such as you be of one of the honorable knight classes?" He asked in anger before sighing. "No, it does not matter. Fate has brought us together for the Holy Grail War. But, you will not be the one to defeat me. No, I will be the one to slay you in this duel." Lancer then dropped Gae Buidhe to ground before holding Gae Derg with both of his hands. "Prepare yourself, Servant Saber."

The Saber said nothing, instead spitting out the cigarette in his mouth to the side. As it hit the floor, the Saber's form _glowed_ before his suit was replaced in the clothes he had first been summoned in, his sheathed sword gripped tightly in his left hand.

"Be careful Saber, I cannot sense his Master." Irisviel warned as she took several steps back. "I will support you with healing magic." The Saber only nodded in response to her words before he closed his eyes, bent his knees, and shifted himself into a strange sword stance with his left hand still on the sheath of his sword while his right hand gripped the handle, but did not draw it. Irisviel took her own stance, arms stretched out before her and ready to cast as she gave her first order to her Servant. "Saber, grant me victory!"

As though answering to her command in his place, the Lancer charged at the Saber, stabbing forward with the speed that defined his class. As the bloody red spear came within inches of the Saber's head, the samurai's eyes snapped open as he unsheathed his sword faster than even the swift-footed Lancer could follow, parrying the spear and attempting to reverse-kick the Irishman's head with his right foot. The Lancer quickly blocked the blow with the shaft of Gae Derg but grimaced at the force of the blow before pushing him off.

The Lancer swung his spear with its tip aimed for the Saber's neck, only for the sharpened blade to imbed itself in the swordsman's sheath. The Saber quickly brought up his sword, forcing the Lancer to step back in order to avoid being cut in half while pulling Gae Derg free from the sheath's grip. Backing away from each other, the two warriors sized each other up, just as a small cut appears on Lancer's left cheek.

"It seems that you have first blood, Saber." The Lancer spoke before charging again, shouting, "Be sure that it will be your last!"

As sword and lance clashed, sparks flew from the parrying blows amidst the ringing roars of clashing steel. Irisviel could only gape with the awe of one witnessing mortal combat for the first time as the Saber began to attack with sword and sheathe alike only for the Lancer to dodge or knock it to the side with the end of his spear.

The battle was intense, and it was a wonder why neither combatant bore greater injuries than some thin, simple cuts. It truly seemed like the two Servants of the Knight Classes were evenly matched.

At least that's what Irisviel thought until a second later.

The Saber and the Lancer's battle had now gone back to where it began with the swordsman relying entirely upon his blade and making use of his sheath as a means of defense against his opponent's spear. Every blow made by the two Servants echoed across the docks like the knelling of funeral bells. The Lancer was sweating and even panting a bit, but his narrowed eyes never left the swordsman, while the Saber only looked just a bit frustrated. The spearman stepped forward, attempting to stab the Saber again, only for the Saber to _jump_ over him and land behind him in a crouch.

The Lancer whirled around to face him, but the Saber was a fraction faster, sword flashing as he turned his whole body with the slash, intent on separating the Knight of the Spear from his head. Closer and closer it drew until…

A flash of yellow swatted the sword away.

The Saber's eyes widened as the previously discarded yellow spear of the Lancer was held once more in his right hand. Using the moment for his advantage, the Lancer stabbed Gae Derg forward only for the Saber to duck beneath the jab, the crimson spear passing through his afro and cutting off some hair, before leaping back.

"Saber!" Irisviel yelled in distress, seeing blood now running down the Servant's face from a cut across his scalp. Lancer flicked Gae Derg to the side, removing Saber's blood from the Noble Phantasm, before settling into a favorable stance with both spears pointed forward at sharp angles. Irisviel focused her magic upon the Saber's wound, making her body glow with the passing light of a healing spell which flared across the open wounds upon the Saber's head and faded to reveal unblemished flesh.

"Don't think I don't know what you are Saber." Lancer said coldly as he gazed at the Servant, far from concerned by the support of the swordsman's Master. He had expected no less from one who was declared as a Master of the most illustrious of the three Knight Classes despite the tarnished soul staining the class with his presence. "I have slayed dozens of men like yourself. Honor-less men who fought for their own selfish, petty reasons not caring how many men they killed to achieve their goal. They killed the weak with the strong, only using the strength necessary to kill even if it cost their opponent their dignity as a blooded warrior." That made the Saber's eyes narrow while the Lancer continued, "But now, it will be you who is killed without dignity unless you fight with your full strength. I have brought out my Noble Phantasms, swordsman. You best bring out yours if you wish to live longer. I would kill you at your strongest, to preserve my own honor."

The Saber said nothing for a few moments as he stared at Lancer before stabbing his sheath into the ground, twisting it to make sure it wouldn't budge. Bringing his left hand to the back of his head, the Saber untied his headband. Once the knot was loose, the Saber threw the lengthy piece of cloth at Lancer, who caught it easily.

"What are you…?" The Lancer's unfinished question was answered in a flash of light, as a new headband appeared in the Saber's left hand before he tied it upon his forehead.

Like the previous headband, it was a simple white cloth with a red dot at the center. However, the thing that made it different from its predecessor was the kanji for "one" on its left side while a single horizontal stripe was on its right.

_W-what is that?_ Irisviel thought in shock as a wave of _power_hit her body. Whatever the headband was, it held immense energy in it, something that confused the pale-skinned homunculus. The headband was nothing but a simple piece of cloth…

Wasn't it?

"Wear it." The Saber spoke, making the Lancer blink before nodding.

It seems that even murderers had a code of honor.

Tying the headband securely across his forehead, Lancer readied himself at Saber, who now held his sword with both hands, before the two Servants launched themselves at each other.

* * *

_"Is that it? And I thought you loved your Papi… I thought that all those souls you sent to heaven behind you mattered. But only now you see, your little anger is just a sea spray of blood in the endless ocean of this world's killing…"_

* * *

"Aw man! No more mister nice 'fro!" Ninja-Ninja cackled as he kneeled beside Kiritsugu.

The Magus Killer kept focusing on the fight between the two Servants, which was now more brutal than ever. Their strikes were inexplicably faster and stronger than before with neither of them stopping even for a moment. While the Saber received many cuts from the Lancer's spears so too did the Lancer also suffer from his own injuries. Blood was flying in sprays of crimson with every blow they rained on each other.

Kiritsugu had to admit, for all the complications the Saber brought to his initial plan; the Servant of the Sword also produced good results. With luck, the Saber just might eliminate a Servant from the war in the second battle.

"Now man, I gotta ask. Is it really alright leavin' yo main squeeze out there?" Ninja-Ninja asked, grinning as he looked away from the fight and at Irisviel herself. "Nuthin' stoppin' that guy's Master from whacking her. And I don't think your gun is gonna solve this one. Couldn't you have just gone down there yourself?"

Kiritsugu didn't answer, but he _did_ shift his sniper rifle to Irisviel to check on her. She was safe, but looking a bit disturbed by the sheer brutality of the fight.

"Come on man, you really gonna diss me again? Don't you wanna hear what I got to say about that stalker that's watchin' this little show without a ticket?" Ninja-Ninja asked before he took out a kunai, allowing Kiritsugu see the reflection of a cloaked form on top of the wharf. "Looks like someone doesn't know that dead means dead!"

Kiritsugu turned his sniper rifle to the wharf and looked through the scope to see the Assassin, alive, apparently without injury, and staring intently at the fight that was taking place below.

The Saber's Master clicked his tongue in annoyance before thumbing the radio and muttering, "Maiya, there has been a complication…"

* * *

"_Who would have imagined that the boy we once knew would return as such a… mad executioner. Driven by only his murderous rage…"_

* * *

The Lancer greedily sucked in deep breaths, trying to ignore the pain his body was in and the blood that flowed from his wounds, which made the two spears he held slippery. He simply gripped them harder as he glared at his opponent.

The Saber was not without injury, in fact, he was just as wounded as he was. Gae Buidhe had struck only glancing blows, creating numerous, bleeding scratches but not one that would prove fatal. This murderer who was called forth as the Saber… was just far too skilled to be killed easily. It pained the Lancer to admit it, but he and the Saber were evenly matched.

_And that headband…_ Lancer thought as he narrowed his eyes at the headband on the Saber's head, which miraculously remained untouched like the one on his own head. _Saber's strength, speed, even his endurance have increased since he put it on. Just what sort of Noble Phantasm is it?_

The Lancer did not know why the Saber had him wear his former headband before he put on the new one and he didn't really care. His honor demanded that he fight on equal terms with his opponent, even if he was a cold-blooded killer. Thus, he would continue wearing the headband, at least until he killed the Saber.

He never knew the subtle shift in his own abilities, as the headband silently declared him second only to he who was the Number One and thus, the only force on this World or any other capable of taking the Saber's life and headband for himself.

All that he knew was that he had to end this soon, lest he die from blood loss.

"HAH!" The Lancer shouted before he charged at the Saber again, bringing down Gae Derg, only for the Saber to block it with the flat of his sword. The Lancer stabbed Gae Buidhe forward, aiming for the Saber's chest. As the yellow spear broke ebony skin, the Saber kicked the Lancer's wrist, making Gae Buidhe fly into the air and leave a long gash on the Saber's chest. The samurai then twisted his body to push off Gae Derg and swung his sword, leaving a horizontal gash in the spearman's chest that wept blood, but was not too deep to be a mortal blow.

The Lancer gasped in pain as he righted himself, aiming his spear at his opponent. "I will not fall here Saber! No matter how many blows you land on me, I will…"

The sound of a battle cry and the roars of oxen snapped the Lancer out of his speech before something impacted the ground in between him and the Saber, blocking their vision with dust and lightning. _What on Earth…?_

The Saber though, far from distracted, saw use in the Lancer's moment of confusion. He leapt over whatever had come between him and his enemy, sword held high. In a split second, the Lancer's eyes went wide in shock as he brought Gae Derg up to defend himself, while the Saber brought down his sword.

A half-second later, blood flew in a crimson rain.

As the dust cleared, it could be seen that the Saber crouched before the Lancer, both covered in blood. The Rider blinked in surprise as he saw blood that came gushing forth from the huge gash that the Saber made. From his shoulder to hip and straight through the Lancer's heart, the wound went.

The Lancer's face showed his shock and pain, while the Saber's remained completely impassive as he rose from his crouch, not even bothering to try cleaning his bloody blade. He ignored the other Servant's blood spraying him, only staring at the dying man. Some of it even landed on Rider's face, but he simply wiped it off with his thumb.

"W-what the…?" Waver Velvet muttered in horror as he watched Lancer stumble back and cough up blood. He then proceeded to pass out, as the body simply separated at the cut and dropped, leaving Rider to watch the scene with a somber seriousness.

The Lancer looked up in shock at the Saber whom did not meet his eyes. The Lancer's upper half weakly shook as he whispered, "N-Not like…" He did not finish his sentence, instead falling still as he stopped breathing. His form disappeared into black ashes, leaving nothing but his blood and the headband behind.

"S-Saber!" Irisviel yelled out, stopping herself from running to the Servant as she looked cautiously at the unknown Servant that had appeared. When she saw that he would not harm her, Irisviel ran to her Servant before placing her hands on the Saber's shoulders and began to heal his wounds. Sweat began to form on her brow as the numerous cuts began to close while the Saber looked coldly at Rider, his grip tight upon his sword.

"Ah, this is not how I wanted this duel to end…" Rider muttered as he scratched his head. "But perhaps it would have ended this way, one way or another…"

"Add one more body to the body toll! May God rest this poor bastard's soul!" Ninja-Ninja rapped out, appearing beside Saber and kneeling in a praying position over where the Lancer formerly was.

"Hm? And who might you be?" Rider asked with interest, making Ninja-Ninja glance at him.

"Oh, I'm just keepin' my boy here company." Ninja-Ninja said with a laugh while placing his hand on Saber's shoulder. "Man, you one lucky sonuvabitch Afro! I thought you would be dead for sure!"

_Ninja-Ninja~! _Irisviel mentally groaned as she watched the Noble Phantasm get into a discussion with the other Servant. _You are not supposed to show yourself! What about the plan?_

"Now, I have ridden this night in hopes of recruiting the other Servants as part of my army…" The Rider began before glancing at the Saber, giving him a pitying look. "…But I can see what you are. You are not given the luxury of having comrades or such things, are you?" The massive Servant sighed when the dark-skinned Servant gave him only silence as his response. "Such is the fate ones like you are destined to have…" The Rider's grin then returned before shouting, "Now the rest of you! Reveal yourselves! I am Iskandar of Macedon, the King of Conquerors, and the current Rider of this war! I ask all those here to reveal yourselves! Those too cowardly to show their faces will receive my eternal scorn!"

"Hmph, how ignorant." A haughty voice declared before a blonde man clad in golden armor appeared on top of one of the lampposts and looked down with red, serpentine eyes. "Here I was, enjoying the good show of two dogs fighting to the death, and now you have the gall to challenge me? If you could not sense my glorious presence, then you have no right to call for me, mongrel."

"Aw shit, it's that blonde motherfucker!" Ninja-Ninja shouted in fear before turning to the Saber. "Listen man, this dude's really, _really_ fuckin' strong! So don't get yourself in a fight with him, okay?" The Saber seemed to ignore him, instead taking off the headband that he was currently wearing, the cloth disappearing in a flash of light, before putting on the one Lancer formerly wore. "Hey man, I'm talkin' to you! I'm tryin' to save yo ass here!" The afro-haired Servant continued to ignore him, and instead went to his sheath and pulled it out of the ground before sheathing his sword and walking back to Irisviel.

Irisviel could not help but agree with the Noble Phantasm. She could only feel raw power emanating from the Servant. Power that far outweighed Saber's own. _But why? Why is he ignoring his advice?_

_**"GGGGRRRAAAAHHHHH!"**_ A dark, deep voice roared into the night out before, in a flash of miasmic darkness, a black armored figure appeared on the battleground. The shadows clung to him like a living mist making any details of him completely lost to the blackness save for the line of crimson that was the shining light of his visor.

"Aw man, what in the _HELL_ is that thing!?" Ninja-Ninja asked while pointing at said thing. "Damn! Who the hell invited Smokey the Bear?!"

"Berserker? What is he doing here?" Irisviel almost shouted before looking at the Saber, who was looking at the blonde Servant intently now.

"Hm, it seems I won't have a chance to do negotiations…" Rider sighed before looking at the Saber and asking, "What will you do now, Saber?"

"Aw man, you seriously need to ask?" Ninja-Ninja groaned before looking at the Saber while shaking his head. "You just don't listen to people, do you man?"

The Saber said nothing, but instead closed his eyes and went to the same stance that he took when he first faced the Lancer. His body went in the direction of the blonde Servant, who seemed to be focused on Berserker at the moment and was completely ignoring him.

The Saber then opened his eyes, a flash of light emanating from them as he began to unsheathe his sword.

* * *

_ "Will it ever end?"_

_"…"_

_"…Nah, I guess not."_

* * *

**Statistics:**

**Class:** Saber  
**Identity:** Afro (?)  
**Basic Stats:**  
_Alignment:_ Chaotic Evil  
_Noble Phantasm:_  
_Strength:_ A(+)**  
_Mana:_ E  
_Agility:_ A+(+)*(+)**  
_Endurance:_ A(+)**  
_Luck:_ B

**Class Skills:**  
_Magic Resistance:_ C  
_Riding:_ B

**Personal Skills:**  
_Battle Continuation:_ B  
_Eternal Arms Mastership:_ A+  
_Eye of the Mind (False):_ A  
_High-Speed Combat:_ A  
_Protection from Projectiles:_ A

*See High-Speed Combat  
**See The Number One: A God Among Men

Noble Phantasm:

_The Number One: A God Among Men:_ A+  
_Rokutaro: Sword of the Father:_ E+  
_Ninja-Ninja: Bearer of Humanity:_ C+

Exposition:  
_**High-Speed Combat: **_A  
The ability to fight beyond the perception and limits of humans and even Servants. The effectiveness of this skill is dependent on the rank of the Servant's _Agility. _At A-rank, the body has adjusted so well that there is no time delay between perception and reaction. Also grants one (+) modifier to Agility.

_**The Number One: A God Among Men:**_ A+  
A support type Noble Phantasm, this is a headband of legend said to bring its holder the power of God himself. Once worn, it adds one (+) modifier to Afro's Strength, Endurance, and Agility. However, unless his opponent wears the Number Two Headband Afro cannot be killed. If the opponent kills Afro while he is wearing the Number One Headband, the headband goes to the winning Servant with all its powers intact.

_**Rokutaro: Sword of the Father:**_ E+  
A sword that once belonged to Afro's father who was a wearer of _the Number One _headband, the sword itself holds no special abilities but has been known to be extremely sharp and durable. In life, Afro was able to slice through ammunitions with but a single swing of this blade, from small arms to a missile.

_**Ninja-Ninja: Bearer of Humanity:**_ C+  
The most unique of anti-unit Noble Phantasms, _Ninja-Ninja_ is the living representation of Afro's inner thoughts and desires. This Noble Phantasm can act on its own accord but is not battle oriented. However it does hold a form of Presence Concealment, allowing it to spy on other Servants/Masters without being detected unless it makes its presence known to them.


	7. The Dark

**DISCLAIMER:** All copyrighted materials belong to their respected owners.

* * *

Saber… masters of swords whose own legends often surpass beyond they who wield them. Lancer… wielders of spears, lances, any and all weapons that provide the extra reach that make striking them down all but impossible. Archer… the true masters of the long-range weaponry who possess such incredible strength of will that they virtually become their own masters. Rider… they who've mastered their mounts to such a degree that even upon their own feet they are a passing blur to untrained eyes. Caster… magicians, sorcerers, witches, and warlocks, they are the artisans of the magical arts, purveyors of spells and enchantments long lost to modern time and its scientific convention. Berserker… the mad dogs of war whose sheer physical might is rivaled only by their inhuman madness… Assassin… the shadow walkers who move silent and unseen by their victims until their blades are buried to the hilt in their heart.

Fourteen combatants in all, the seven Masters and the seven Servants whom they call forth from the Throne of Heroes to fight and kill to attain that which was named as the Holy Grail, that their wishes may be granted, one to the living and one to the dead. An absolute balance, a perfected measure of control… but a war is a war, and like all rules that have come before and like so many that will follow, they are broken.

Shattered.

Ignored.

Yet no higher price could be paid by the breaking of the simplest of rules for there, in the Holy Grail, existed something of… a loophole. Seven Masters and seven Servants, fourteen combatants in all. No more, no less.

Until the other classes were revealed… until one class was exploited.

Avenger… they whose lives were spent in the name of vengeance be it for themselves or others… It is not a true class, a substitute and nothing more. It was never meant to be used for few heroes of the past could fill the standard, and rare was it that the gifts of being an Avenger were welcomed. Summoned from frustration and slaughtered before the folly could be discovered, that which whom was called as Avenger was he who had, in life, been a sacrifice against all that is sin, all that is evil, all that is abhorrent of mankind. In his demise as a Servant, he had done what he had in life and so it was not the soul of an innocent, a soul of an avenging hero that was swept into the Holy Grail.

No.

What it was… what it is…

It is Sin.

It is Evil.

It is everything that mankind hates, loathes, and abhors about itself… all this and so much more was poured into the Holy Grail until that which it had been was no more. There was no holiness to this blackened Grail. The hellish monstrosity summoned forth by Avenger saw to that quite well. Yet… even in the deepest of darkness… there can be a spark, a tiny speck, of light that still shines, a soul willingly sacrificed so that a shared dream may together be realized.

The Grail has become corrupted… controlled by the Evils of the World but there is enough of its core, of _her_ original self, that retains, that remembers…

That all rules are made to be broken… and perhaps, just perhaps… whose sorcery was that of an entirely different world… could break the curse set upon the Holy Grail…

* * *

**_From Across the Throne of Heroes_**

_"The Dark"_

* * *

The world is filled with monsters.

"Do you think demons exist, kiddo?"

Every man, woman, and child could easily attest to this but never with the same answer. The child may tell of a beast of legendary myth, a boogying beast from the catacombs beneath their beds, or even of a malevolent terror from the forbidden corners of the closet.

"All the papers and magazines call me a demon. But wouldn't that be kinda rude if demons really did exist? You've gotta be clear about these things."

Yet an adult, be they a man or a woman, would tell of a far worse creature than anything a child could ever conjure in the depths of their darkest nightmares. For an adult knows that the worst kind of monster, the kind that hurt for the joy of hearing pleas for mercy, the kind that kill for the sake of seeing the ground painted red, is the kind of monster that is no mere thing as a beast or a work of imaginative fiction.

"Sup! I'm Uryuu Ryuunosuke and I'm a demon! I dunno if that's how I should be introducing myself."

It is a visage seen in the midst of a crowd, eyes watching you as turn around the street corner, and a smile slowly spreading as your heart begins to race. You know this monster. You know this monster better than you know yourself. Because this is a monster that you can see, that you can feel, and worst of all… that you can name.

"So like, I found this. It's some old book I found in the storehouse. It looks like my ancestors were researching how to summon demons. So like, I gotta find out if demons really do exist!"

Human.

"But y'know… if a demon really did come out, it'd be pretty dumb to just chat with it and have nothing to offer him. So, kiddo… If a demon really shows up… Mind if we let it kill you?"

The bound child's eyes widened and he screamed his loudest through the gag as he squirmed on the hardwood floor of his family's living room.

Uryuu Ryuunosuke, the monster that wore human skin, laughed not for the boy's fear or his fruitless struggling but for the very idea of a new death for him to witness.

"I wonder what it's like, being killed by a demon? Not many people get to experience that—Ow." The serial killer's eyes wandered down to his right hand that now bore a marking that was not there a moment ago. "What's this?"

The summoning circle behind Uryuu flared with a light akin to the birthing of a star before it was gone as quickly as it had come and there, standing in the center of the circle, was what Uryuu could only believe to be an extremely old demon. The old man, if the thing could best be compared to one, stood hunched over a thick wooden cane with a thick golden plate around the collar of his blackened cloak. Yet, just above this sat a collar of thick, bovine horns that sat firmly in place regardless of gravity's rulings. From beneath the hood, upon which was drawn a small series of ethereal green lines that traveled down the body of his robes, crimson locks dangled past a shadowed face. The skin of his hands had a slight purplish tint and his nails were long and sharp like claws.

"I ask of you… You who would call me forth under the designation of Caster…" spoke the hooded figure, his aged voice echoing as though he were speaking in a chamber rather than a simple family's living room. The cloaked figure stilled with only the gentle swaying of his hood conveying the motion of his head turning slowly to regard the bloodshed. The bound boy, eyes wide and frightened beyond his wits, felt for a moment that those shadowed eyes had fallen upon him before the summoned figure resumed speaking, "Did you do this?"

"Well, yeah…" The red-haired Master scratched the back of his head, not all surprised or confused by this turn of events. "I'm Uryuu Ryuunosuke and I like killing people pretty much. Especially kids and young women. Anyway, wanna eat the kid here?"

The Caster turned to regard the boy who once more resumed his struggles for freedom, especially at the tapping approaching hooded figure. He screamed as he felt the man's hand upon his shoulder and… the tearing of duct-tape…? The boy turned wide, weeping eyes and saw that with but a gesture of his hands the Caster had freed him of his bonds.

"Close your eyes boy…" The Caster leaned further down, so close that his crimson tresses tickled at the boy's ear as he whispered. He drew a series of lines into the air beside the child's head. "Sleep, boy. Sleep… and forget the horrors you've witnessed here tonight…"

The boy blinked and was asleep in an instant. Satisfied, the Caster rose up with his back still turned to the thing that was supposed to be his Master for the Holy Grail War.

He had something of a Master once.

He betrayed her, during his servitude and at the end of it.

What was different about this thing than her?

The Caster didn't know for certain. All that he knew was the azure flames that now sat in the palm of his hand felt too small a payment for the crimes the monster behind him had committed. _No._ The flames were extinguished with the clenching of his hand. _Lives may have ended because of my actions but never will I willingly take a life._

His hand opened once more and in the center of his palm sat a blackened sphere that bore a golden spine along one side.

In life, the Caster had never willingly taken a life… but he had taken something just as precious, in parts but even a tiny piece was worth twenty times its weight in gold.

And it would not be a piece that he'd take from the monster behind him.

He'd take it all.

* * *

_"We are to invade Rubicon, on the Halcyon border. We march on the morrow! The town harbors a sage who must be eliminated. Spare no one—women and children included."_

_"An invasion? Women and children…? Why? Why must we go that far? This is wrong! This not why I studied magic! This is all wrong!"_

* * *

The world is filled with heroes.

There is not a child, woman, or man that could argue this though they may define a hero quite differently. The adult, be they a woman or a man, may agree that a hero is anyone capable of committing an act of good not for the reward but for the act itself. To a child, a hero is the one who slays the dragon and rescues the princess, who comes swooping down from the heavens to catch the bad guy in the act before any harm can befall the innocent.

A hero is an officer, a fireman, a doctor, a soldier, a teacher, a mother, or a father… In the eyes of adults and children alike, heroes can be anyone because they all do one single, miraculous thing that only a hero can do.

They save people.

Did that make him a hero this time around?

The Caster had no idea. He had failed so many times before…

Sitting in at the child's bedside, the Caster turned an eye to the open doorway and saw the child's family standing just outside the threshold. This was not the home that they had lived and died in, but it was one inherited by the mother and passed on now to the son. Though it had barely been a day since his summoning, the Caster was not surprised to find the child's family refusing to leave his side, even when their presence went unnoticed by anyone but the Caster himself who despite his efforts, or perhaps his lack of them, found himself burdened by the child who bore the Command Seals of his family's murderer. His illusion of a visiting grandfather proved too good to the local law enforcement and so they left the boy in his care, thinking that family would help the boy get over the trauma that took from him his family and memories together.

The ghost of the boy's older sister glanced up at her parents before taking a brave face and stepping forward into the room until she stood at the Caster's side. She had a firm frown in place as she glared at his shadowed face but the moment her eyes glanced down at her sleeping brother, they wetted with tears. She collapsed atop her brother and started to cry, her voice muted to him and the Caster both.

The Caster looked at her in silence for a moment as she continued to weep before he rose and walked over to where her parents stood waiting. He stood before them, leaning upon his cane in silent regard and watched as they tried to speak but to no avail, for even ghosts such as they could not speak in the same tongue as the living.

But a wizard has many tricks, and a spell to commune with the dead was by far the easiest that he could cast.

A simple rune carved into the air and the barrier between them was broken and so too was whatever resolve the Caster had in getting rid of the boy with the first words of the child's parents.

"… _Thank you… A thousand times thank you…_" The mother was weeping, and being held tightly in the embrace of a father whose tears fell silently across his face.

"I would have done no different were your son alive or dead." The Caster stated. "If you preferred that I had been less merciful—"

"… _No, no, you misunderstand me… You saved him… and that's all that I can do, is say thank you…_" Her hand went out to him and passed through his shoulder in demonstration. He stepped back from her reach lest she truly try and hug him.

"If you knew me for who I was, what I had been called here to do, you would not be so quick to thank me."

"…_It doesn't matter the what-if's… the could-have-been… We're dead and he is alive… I don't pretend to make sense of how you came to be here… I don't care if you're a demon or a saint… All I care about, all that I can care about, is the continued welfare of my son…_" said the father.

The Caster sighed, sagging slightly forward on his cane. "Through my own folly, the sigils that marked that thing as my Master have been transferred to the boy. For all intents and purposes, he is my Master now for the duration of my summoning. Does that satisfy you enough for you to pass on?"

"…_ It is enough…_" said the father.

"_…It's time to go sweetie…_" the mother called to her daughter.

The ghostly girl looked up and sniffed once before giving one last, unfelt hug to her younger brother. She pressed a kiss to his forehead and whispered softly to him before walking over to her waiting parents but stopped at the Caster's side, trying to see the shadowed face hidden beneath his hood.

"_… Keep him safe… or I'll come back to haunt you…_"

Then, they were gone.

* * *

_"What I did… Was it wrong? Was it my fault…? Was it my fault they were killed? Idiot! You couldn't even save one solitary life. You know full well that girl is dead already. What the hell is the point? Why did I even try!? There's no good in this world… only despair…"_

* * *

The world is filled with villains.

"Who gave you permission to gaze upon me, rabid dog? May your scattered remains entertain me, mongrel."

There's not a man, woman, or child who would dare to believe otherwise for though a monster is something to be feared, a monster is as rare as the blue moon in this modern world. A villain is as common as a stalk of grass and while a villain should be feared it is not for the inhumanity that frequents monsters. No, it is because of the humane evil that a villain is one to be feared. A child could tell you that villains are men bedecked with wicked mustaches to curl, a sinister laugh to make, and henchmen galore. A villain is someone to beat whose only lot in life is to know defeat and never victory.

"How dare you lay your filthy hands on my treasures… You must really want to die badly, dog!"

Men and women both know otherwise. Sometimes, evil wins because without a victory for evil how then can we appreciate the winnings of good? Villains, as any adult would attest, are people and as such sometimes far worse than a monster. A monster may kill, may hurt, may destroy for the pleasures of such malignant activities, a monster is an offspring of chaos with little rhyme or reason to its methods.

" Just how long can your impudent thievery keep you alive? Show me!"

A villain is not chaos. A villain knows of the pains it inflicts and know when and where to hit where it hurts the most. A villain strikes so deeply into the heart that even the soul beneath does not go unscathed. In the history of the World, nay, in the history of the _Worlds_, there have always been and forever shall be villainy. Oh yes, evil may rest for a time, but just as the sun must set so too must the good times and like the night, evil shall have its time to play only until the next dawn.

"How dare you… You're making me stand on the same ground as you? I, who belong among the heavens?!"

Too bad for the Archer that the dawn was not to appear for some time…

"Your impudence has sealed your eternal doom! Nothing will remain of your corpse, mongrel!"

The golden Gates of Babylon opened wide their splendor upon the World but stopped just short of revealing the treasures they contained within at the sound of a cane's tapping. The gathered Servants and their Masters, both the hidden and the seen, turned to the source and were surprised to see the hunched form of an old man slowly stepping forward into visibility. He stood nearest to the Saber and the pale-skinned woman who pretended to be her Master, his hooded face turning to regard the damage wrought by the Archer's attack.

"Is that supposed to be Caster?" whispered Waver. While no expert on the Servant System of the Holy Grail War, he had been certain that there was a passage that explicitly stated that a Servant would be summoned in the prime of their previous life. Was it some fault of his Master's summoning that brought the Caster to the War as a frail, old man?

"Let's ask shall we? Oi! I take it then that you are the Servant Caster of this Holy Grail War?" asked the Rider.

"Such is the class that I have been summoned under. I much prefer the title I held in life than that which brands me now in death, I assure you." The Caster answered the King of Conquerors. "A title I fear I may live up to tonight."

"You?" scoffed the Archer. "What should a king such as I have to fear from an old man?"

A faint rumble of thunder from the storm clouds amassing up above but not a single eye turned towards the sky.

The Caster was silent before he started to chuckle. Soon, his chuckling turned to laughter. "You… You are all _fools!_ This, all of this, is the extent of your power." He waved a withered hand at the scattered weapons. "How can any of you hope to attain the Holy Grail when your power is not enough to save yourselves from your own idiocy?"

The Caster laughed as he faded from sight.

A moment passed before a bolt of lightning came crashing down and impacted the Berserker dead center in the chest, launching the black knight through several crates. Whether it was enough to kill him outright or not did not matter for a sudden downpour of rain began to fall in earnest. More lightning crashed as electrified spears sent down from the raging sky. The winds roared with all the ferocity that Gaia could muster though it was not the Will of the Earth that gave birth to this storm.

"Did Caster do this?!" yelled Irisviel over the gale, one hand holding tightly to her hat, the other upon the Saber who kept a protective arm wrapped tightly over the woman's shoulders. "Where did he get the power to create such a storm so quickly?!"

"Hold tight, Master!" roared the Rider as he snapped the reins of his Noble Phantasm. "No storm can possibly impede a chariot blessed by Zeus!"

"Are you insane?!" screamed Waver, clinging tightly to his Servant's cape. "Don't you even think of trying to fly through this!"

The Lancer braced himself to the earth with his spears and happened to glance upwards in search of his Master when he saw it. What he saw made him slacken his grip just enough that when the winds came roaring past once more, they caught and carried the Servant of the Lance away into the sky, his Master not too far behind, their screams lost amidst the howling fury of the storm. The golden Archer glared imperiously at their vanishing forms as they flew past and snorted derisively even as he struggled to remain standing regally in the face of nature's fury. It was then that he felt the weight of another's gaze upon him and at last he looked to the heavens he claimed as his own and saw for himself what power lay behind the storm.

"What the hell?!"

At the Archer's foul exclamations, the Saber looked skyward and her face paled at what she saw gazing back down upon the docks.

An eye.

An eye that was as more massive than both the Einzbern estates combined and set firmly in the center of a golden circle that bore semblance to a summoning array if only by design. Its array moved in a slow spin and with every turn, the storm's intensity grew in strength and ferocity. Yet it was not until the eye moved its gaze along the sea that towering waterspouts emerged before its gaze at last settled upon the people below. It blinked once.

Then the Eye of the Storm began to shine…

* * *

_"Embrace your despair. For when despair devours the heart, it gives birth to the power of hatred. It is despair that will overwhelm this world. You are the Executor, charged with bringing destruction to this world. I dub you… the Dark Djinn."_

* * *

To say that Tokiomi Tohsaka is displeased… Actually, no, that's quite right actually. As the head of the Tohsaka family, it would be most unbefitting of a mage of his status to let his emotions get the better of him as others of lesser lineages are prone to do. He had expected magecraft unseen since the Age of the Gods by the Caster, he'd be a fool not to have, but never would he have thought the Servant brazen enough to summon a localized hurricane as an opening move. It was akin to starting a duel of swords by firing a nuclear missile, as Tokiomi's apprentice blandly explained though his Servant used more… lucrative… words to describe the traumatic death of one of its many aspects.

Not that the Tohsaka knew the difference between a nuclear and regular missile but he understood the comparison regardless.

And his learning plenty of new words to describe what had to be a painful way to go was a bonus really.

The point remained however that Tokiomi Tohsaka is displeased. Not entirely to the overly dramatic opening move of the Caster. According to Risei, the overseer of the War, the Servants Lancer and Berserker were both slain by the fury of the Caster's storm. Given the declaration and the legend behind the man, there was little doubt that the Rider had survived and the Saber, well if she was truly the wielder of Excalibur than by proxy she had been blessed by the Lady of the Lake as well which meant that water of any sort would not impede her.

Yet what had the magus truly vexed was his own Servant, the self-entitled "King of Heroes", Gilgamesh of Uruk whose legend was amongst the first of mankind to put to the written word. Of course such a legend would survive against something so paltry as a hurricane.

That he'd survive unscathed however…

"Your Majesty…"

"Get away!" A half-emptied glass of wine shattered against the wall to Tokiomi's left, missing the man by a good margin and staining the once pristine carpet red. "Don't look at me! Don't you dare! By the gods, I'm a hideously pathetic wretch… Begone I said!"

Yet the Servant was completely unharmed. A little windswept but otherwise there wasn't a scratch to be found on the golden armor that the Archer had discarded like it was infested with vermin and had made due with wrapping himself beneath every available sheet he could find until only his face could just barely be seen. Following this, the Servant of the Bow began the long and arduous journey of discovering whether or not a Servant could in fact get drunk out of their mind.

Seven bottles of Tokiomi's finest bottles of wine and several loud exclamations of self-loathing later and the theory was proving to be false…

Tokiomi closed the door and turned narrowed eyes upon a sighing Risei, an apathetic Kirei, and a silent Assassin who, by the faint quivering of her shoulders, was taking great delight in seeing the King of Heroes having an emotional hissy fit.

"This is Caster's doing." Tokiomi stated calmly. "Of that I have no doubt."

"Is there truly such a spell that can affect the mind of a Heroic Spirit?" asked Risei, already knowing the answer.

"There isn't. Not against the King of Heroes." Tokiomi said. "It's almost as though… Not, that is a foolish assumption."

"What is?" asked Kirei.

"If I was inclined to believe in such… I'd think that the Caster had bewitched my Servant's confidence away…"

"I wonder if any of the other Servants were likewise cursed…?" muttered Risei.

Assassin could no longer contain herself and collapsed onto the floor, laughing uproariously.

"… Yes. Yes I think we can assume that they were."

* * *

_"It's over, Lucien."_

* * *

The world is filled with people.

Anyone with a lick of sense could tell you that. The young and the elderly, the sick and the healthy, the wicked and the good… From ivory to ebony, from short to towering, from the foolish to the wise… Each and every human being on the face of the planet is a person and as a whole they are people.

And so too was he who believed himself otherwise.

"Grandpa…?"

The Caster did not flinch. He who was entitled as the Executor, the Dark Djinn, and Heartbreaker could not possibly flinch at a child calling to him so innocently in the late hours of the night, with frightened eyes seeking comfort from one who knew that he was not the right person to offer such a thing.

"Yes?"

"I…" The boy swallowed and looked down at the floor in shame. "I had another nightmare…"

A twitch of the fingers was the only sign the Caster gave, his eyes darting and unseen to the young boy for any sign of the malignant spirits that shared the name. "I see…"

"Can… Can I sleep in here…? Just for tonight?"

"No." The Caster told him sternly. "You will find better comfort in your bed."

"Oh…" The boy's eyes were downcast so he never noticed the Caster move until the aged Servant was beside him.

"Come. I will stay until you fall asleep."

The boy's face immediately brightened as he followed along after the Servant on the small trip back to his room. He climbed back into bed and buried himself beneath the covers until only his golden brown eyes and rusty red hair could be seen.

"Can I hear another story from your world?"

"Another?" The Caster settled himself in the chair next to the boy's bedside. "Is my world so interesting a place?" Yet with a gesture of his hand, he brought forth the tome and waited as the pages turned to the correct page. Bringing the book up, he hesitated for a moment before he began to read, starting with the title, "_My Other Self…_"

So the Caster read the Sixth Tale of Wonder from his book and by the story's end, the boy was asleep in his bed. Satisfied that his task was done, the Caster rose and made to leave the room but stopped himself. He turned and looked down at the sleeping child. He looked down at the book in his hand before setting it down at the child's bedside drawer. He exited the room and stopped just short of closing the door.

"Sleep well Shirou."

Then, he was gone.

* * *

**Through the next gazing of the Kaleidoscope...**

_"The Shadow"_

* * *

**Statistics:**

**Class:** Caster  
**Identity:** Shadar the Dark Djinn  
**Basic Stats:**  
_Alignment:_ Lawful Evil  
_Noble Phantasms: _A++_  
Strength:_ D  
_Mana:_ EX*  
_Endurance:_ D  
_Agility:_ D  
_Luck:_ C+

**Class Skills:**_  
Item Construction: _A+_  
Territory Creation:_ EX

**Personal Skills:  
**_Discernment of the Poor:_ A_  
Eye of the Mind (True):_ B_  
Information Erasure:_ B  
_Librarian of Stored Knowledge:_ A_  
Magic of Another World:_ EX  
_Prana Burst (Darkness):_ A  
_Soul of a Martyr:_ B+

*See The Eye of the Storm: That Which Gazes From Behind the Hurricane's Veil

**Noble Phantasms:**  
_Soul Snare: The Container of Broken Hearts & Lost Memories:_ A+  
_The Eye of the Storm: That Which Gazes From Behind the Hurricane's Veil: _EX

Exposition:  
**_Magic of Another World:_ **EX  
The magic of the Caster's world (known simply as Another World), is incredibly powerful and requires but the simple act of scribing upon the very air through certain mediums be they wands, staffs, or a particular spell book, to conjure. However, thanks to his own inherent power and "ascension" granted to him by the White Witch, Shadar can cast spells with no visible medium though he makes a show of writing the most powerful spells with his cane. It should also be noted that while _Magic of Another World_ operates far differently than what is in found in the Nasuverse, it is not without its own limitations and like all energies, needs either time or a viable potion, to refill. Thankfully, such things as a cup of espresso make for a fine substitute.

**_Soul Snare: The Container of Broken Hearts & Lost Memories:_** A+_  
_The _Soul Snare_, contrary to its name, does not contain souls but pieces of hearts that Shadar can bewitch away from his targets. Be it the warming light of love, the steadfastly firm belief, or gentle kindness, if it is a piece of a person's heart so precious to the person that to be without it is to be in the depths of despair, he can steal it and place it within the Soul Snare. Through those pieces of heart, he can view that person's memories that are tied to that particular piece. Because it is a spell from Another World, there is no means for a mage of the Nasuverse to "give" the missing piece of heart to Shadar's victims, thus the only means of restoration is through either the destruction of the Soul Snare or Shadar himself.

**_The Eye of the Storm: That Which Gazes From Behind the Hurricane's Veil: _**EX  
A relic of the long lost country of Nazcaä, the _Eye of the Storm_ is the most powerful surviving techno-magical construct bar none. Its original purpose lost to time, the White Witch granted the Eye to Shadar as a means of blowing away the prophesized savior of Another World, the Pure-Hearted One named Oliver. Shadar made use of the Eye by blowing Oliver and his friends clear across the world but that was the only time he made use of the Eye by its supposed original design. As a anti-fortress Noble Phantasm, the Eye of the Storm's primary ability is to create hurricane level storms of varying size but Shadar prefers to use it as a magical energy battery for himself and, should the need arise, a means of ascending to his full potential as the Dark Djinn.


	8. The Shadow

**DISCLAIMER:** All copyrighted materials belong to their respected owners.

* * *

Saber… masters of swords whose own legends often surpass beyond they who wield them. Lancer… wielders of spears, lances, any and all weapons that provide the extra reach that make striking them down all but impossible. Archer… the true masters of the long-range weaponry who possess such incredible strength of will that they virtually become their own masters. Rider… they who've mastered their mounts to such a degree that even upon their own feet they are a passing blur to untrained eyes. Caster… magicians, sorcerers, witches, and warlocks, they are the artisans of the magical arts, purveyors of spells and enchantments long lost to modern time and its scientific convention. Assassin… the shadow walkers who move silent and unseen by their victims until their blades are buried to the hilt in their heart.

Fourteen combatants in all, the seven Masters and the seven Servants whom they call forth from the Throne of Heroes to fight and kill to attain that which was named as the Holy Grail, that their wishes may be granted, one to the living and one to the dead. An absolute balance, a perfected measure of control… but a war is a war, and like all rules that have come before and like so many that will follow, they are broken.

Shattered.

Ignored.

Yet no higher price could be paid by the breaking of the simplest of rules for there, in the Holy Grail, existed something of… a loophole. Seven Masters and seven Servants, fourteen combatants in all. No more, no less.

Until the other classes were revealed… until one class was exploited.

Avenger… they whose lives were spent in the name of vengeance be it for themselves or others… It is not a true class, a substitute and nothing more. It was never meant to be used for few heroes of the past could fill the standard, and rare was it that the gifts of being an Avenger were welcomed. Summoned from frustration and slaughtered before the folly could be discovered, that which whom was called as Avenger was he who had, in life, been a sacrifice against all that is sin, all that is evil, all that is abhorrent of mankind. In his demise as a Servant, he had done what he had in life and so it was not the soul of an innocent, a soul of an avenging hero that was swept into the Holy Grail.

No.

What it was… what it is…

It is Sin.

It is Evil.

It is everything that mankind hates, loathes, and abhors about itself… all this and so much more was poured into the Holy Grail until that which it had been was no more. There was no holiness to this blackened Grail. The hellish monstrosity summoned forth by Avenger saw to that quite well. Yet… even in the deepest of darkness… there can be a spark, a tiny speck, of light that still shines, a soul willingly sacrificed so that a shared dream may together be realized.

The Grail has become corrupted… controlled by the Evils of the World but there is enough of its core, of _her_ original self, that retains, that remembers…

That all rules are made to be broken… and perhaps, just perhaps… a shadow of true darkness… could silently slay the evil within the heart of the Holy Grail…

* * *

**_From Across the Throne of Heroes_**

_"The Shadow"_

* * *

Kirei Kotomine, Executor of the Church and a member of the Assembly of the Eighth Sacrament, is damaged. He knew this since he was a boy and for a good portion of his life, sought a means to rectify his broken soul. Self-torture, unquestionable faith in his God, even marriage and the conception of a child did little for him. Not until the day his wife had passed from this world, not by God's grace but by her own to prove to Kirei that he was a man worth loving and as such was quite capable of love. She took her life and in her dying breath, she saw the tears that Kirei shed and passed from this world with a smile on her face never knowing the truth.

Kirei had indeed been sad at her passing not because she was dead but because he was not the cause of her death.

In that moment, mere minutes before the Command Seals would appear upon his hand, Kirei Kotomine realized his abhorrent nature as a human being and sent away his baby daughter to live and grow with her relatives. He'd argue with himself in the years to follow that it was for her protection that he keep his distance from her, never listening to the voice that whispered that there was no room in this world for two such broken beings.

Yet even knowing his nature, knowing full well that if he well and truly succumbed to the abyss that sat in place of his heart he'd be damned to Hell, he never imagined, even for a moment, that God had forsaken him. Yes, it was true that the Holy Grail was a manmade device and not the Cup of Christ but perhaps it deserved the name if it selected him, a creature without purpose to its existence, as a participant. Perhaps this was the Lord's way of giving Kirei the answer to his question. It wasn't until he summoned his Servant that he would realize the truth.

God had indeed washed His hands of Kirei Kotomine.

"I ask of you… You who has summoned me under the designation of Assassin… Are you my Master?"

For the first time in his life, Kirei felt something in the blackened abyss of his heart: confusion. He did not know the man behind the mask but he knew that mask well. There wasn't a single Executor who could fail in recognizing the visage despite the variations that cropped up over the centuries. Standing before Kirei Kotomine was something that, by its very nature, _could not be_ a Heroic Spirit. A Heroic Spirit, by its definition, was a soul whose heroic deeds in life were so great that its history was surpassed and fell into legend. Yet whatever those deeds were they had been done when the soul was still alive, still a human.

This thing is not human.

Kirei remained tensed and ready to draw his Black Keys, regardless if this creature was indeed meant to be his Servant for the Holy Grail War. He could say no, he could refuse the servitude of this creature that he had summoned. He was meant to lose anyway, so what did it matter if he followed Tokiomi's plan?

And yet…

He felt something. For the first time he felt something and by the grace of God or the Devil, he'd milk that feeling for all that it was worth.

"Yes. I am your Master."

* * *

_"He took my memories, left me with a few scattered shards. Disjointed images. Yet I'm told I possessed abilities that he found worth bartering for. I'd earned the approving gaze of the Devil."_

* * *

Tokiomi Tohsaka is not an intelligent man. A brilliant magus, of that there was no doubt, but as far as the rare and illustrious gift of common sense, well the man was severely lacking. Was it because of his frank dismissal of the competition? Well, given that representative from the Clock Tower had to resort to using a secondary catalyst for his summoning, it was perfectly understandable, but to dismiss Kiritsugu Emiya simply because the man employed mundane means rather than magic? He thought the Magus Killer a man worthy of the title yet did not think him a serious enough threat even when his own apprentice displayed a thinly veiled interest in the last Emiya's history?

Foolish were his beliefs but this did not make an idiot out of Tokiomi Tohsaka.

No, that was reserved entirely for his plan of showing off the abilities of his Servant, the golden King of Heroes himself, by way of openly killing the Assassin in a way that no Assassin worth their title would ever allow to happen. Yet even this did not make the head of the Tohsaka family an idiot. No, his idiocy stemmed from the fact that he thought himself secured, that the Assassin would not live up to his title when the legendary King of heroes stood between him and his target.

Tokiomi never once considered that though immortalized in legend, that Gilgamesh was still mortal with all their virtues and vices.

The mage gasped first in shock and soon again in pain as the command seals upon his hand burned themselves upon his flesh leaving not but smudged scars as they left him to take residency upon the waiting arm of the Holy Grail War's overseer.

"What…? No!" Tokiomi rushed to the door of his study and slammed it open and was met by Kirei's familiar sitting calmly on its haunches. Its tongue lapped at jaws stained red with blood, a droplet falling upon the carpeted floor upon which was a splattered trail leading down the expansive hall and around the corner. In that moment, Tokiomi displayed both his brilliance in deduction and his stupidity in self-preservation.

He realized that its presence meant that he had been betrayed and by his own student no less. Enraged beyond all reason, Tokiomi raised his staff to set the familiar aflame even as it stood up.

And up.

And up…

Until it towered over him, pitch black with a stripe of white across its chest and angular patches over the eyes and spikes of hardened steel and increasing lengths flowed from the brow and down to the base of its spine. A pawed hand clamped down upon Tokiomi's hand which was clutched tightly over the jeweled top of his cane and with a primal grin, gave a tiny squeeze.

Tokiomi screamed as the bones in his hand were shattered beyond recognition, the fragments of the broken jewel exploding into the damaged hand as the prana within was released.

_"You should have known better than to tread on a wolf's pride, mage."_ Even in the midst of unbelievable agony, Tokiomi felt a cold dread center itself in the pit of his stomach as he gazed up at the fanged smile of the monstrosity that was certainly not a familiar of his apprentice. Too late did he realize what the beast truly was, if only in part, and voiced his realization with a stuttered whisper, "A-Assassin?"

_"Sorry. I'm just a Mangler. Allow me to live up to my name."_

And so it did.

* * *

_"I sacrificed my only soul in a moment of weakness. Gave it willingly to the soulless to return to life. What I got in return was not life. My fate is to do battle. That's all."_

* * *

It is said that curiosity was what killed the cat…

Yet it was satisfaction that brought him back.

Much as he was… not truly pleased for naught has there been a time where Kirei could admit to being well and truly happy, he had to admit to some minute level of satisfaction in the capabilities of his Servant if not his actions. He had followed his teacher's plan to the letter and had _commanded_ his Servant to end the life of Tokiomi Tohsaka and his Servant.

He knew that his Servant would not succeed simply for the fact that though he knew just _what_ his Servant was the Assassin never lived up to any of the information that the former Executor had gathered. He showed nothing of the inhumane cruelty, the demonical depravity, or any of the animalistic fury that was the supposed norm of his kind.

Kirei ignored the disappointment that emanated like a miasma from the blackened core of his heart.

So yes, he had doubted that his Assassin would survive the Archer's wrath.

Imagine then, that night when he had given the order to the Assassin, Kirei's surprise when the Assassin remained where he was for several minutes before stating that it was done and vanishing into the blackness of the night. Kirei wouldn't have believed his Servant's words had he not seen through the eyes of one his familiars, the wolf that his Servant insisted was worth keeping at his side walk out of the manor with Tokiomi's spine clenched in its jaws.

He couldn't mistake the bones for anyone else's, not when Tokiomi's head was still attached to it.

There it was again… That disgusting pulse of joy at a person's death… and the sheer disappointment that he was not the cause.

Fooling his father had been ridiculously easy, particularly when the Assassin provided the appropriate cover story that the mansion had been razed to the ground by munitions fire. That it actually had been not even ten minutes after the wolf had vacated the premises was beside the point. His father had allied himself to Tokiomi not just for the justification of the man's wish, a wish that took place outside of the World and thus would do no lasting harm to it or the innocents dwelling upon it, but the man had sincerely wished to witness a miracle.

Risei nearly suffered a stroke when the Assassin revealed himself to him and promised him that miracle.

So here Kirei was, lurking in the catacombs beneath with a fervent prayer that when his father awoke, he'd believe that the Assassin he had seen had been an illusion brought up by stress and that his son had not become condemned by God whilst his Servant was out "taking the sights".

Kirei… did not love his father. How could he when he could not bring himself to love his wife or his daughter? No, Kirei did not love his father.

But he did fear him.

He'd be a fool not to.

With a tired sigh, Kirei closed his eyes and allowed the world around him to fade away as he witnessed the world through the eyes and ears of his Assassin.

…

Huh…

Was this what shock felt like?

* * *

_"I thought about what you said during our last encounter. Even about things not said. Like why and how we fight. Much as I hate to admit it, you got me thinking."_

_"Whatever it was I said or did, I'm glad. And just now… lady, you've never looked more angelic."_

_"…! Don't get sentimental on me. How long do you plan to sit on your duff and yap? Get up and let's finish this!"_

* * *

The Assassin crouched atop a crane far above the encroaching lights of the streetlamps below with narrowed eyes that glared down as the Berserker's sudden appearance led to the Saber defending herself not just from him but also the Lancer who could not break the Command Spell placed upon him by his Master.

A part of him, the cocky street punk that he had been in his mortal life, wanted to step out into the light then and there, to proclaim himself and his intentions just as the Rider had. He had no fear of the Berserker's madness, was apathetic to the Lancer's knightly honor despite the similarities to the code which he abided, and the Rider was quickly proving himself as much a loud-mouthed idiot as any gang member with too much ego did back on the streets of Los Angeles.

The Saber however…

Not the girl herself but her sword… His suit had reacted to it just as it had to his teacher once before. He had been stupid then, curious to a reaction he had never felt from the quasi-sentient symbiotic parasite and had nearly gotten himself obliterated because of it. Still, had the Lancer not discovered the secret of the Saber's blade, and thus the Servant's own identity.

_There's something almost ironic that one of the most legendary heroes of all time is in fact a woman…_ thought the Assassin with a small smile beneath his mask. _I'm sure Mariko would have…_

…

No. Best to not think of her. Not yet, not until the Grail was his.

And things could go back to the way they were, the way that they should have been.

With this thought in mind, the Assassin made his presence known.

A faint rattling of chains was the only forewarning that Kayneth Archibald El-Melloi received before the source wrapped itself tightly around his throat and dragged him bodily through the air to the unforgiving ground just behind his battling Servant. Brain matter, blood, and fragmented bones flushed outwards from the force of Kayneth's collision but the Assassin had at least been merciful enough to break the man's neck before splattering his head open like a melon.

The Berserker halted in its mad assault and turned to regard the corpse in silence but for a faint growl from beneath his helm. It was a quick death mercifully so but hardly a dignified or honorable.

"My Lord!" gasped the Lancer in shock before turning sharply to face the darkness above to where the chain had returned. "You… Assassin!"

"Still alive?" the Assassin asked, his voice echoing down to the Servants below who could just barely see the emerald glow of his eyes from the crane above, the rest of him shrouded in shadows. "Here I hoped that the Servants died alongside their Masters… So much for that I guess."

"Come down and face me like a man, coward!" roared the Lancer, his fists clenched tightly upon his spears. "I will avenge my Master's death with the taking of your head!"

"Here I thought you'd thank me for ridding you of the bastard mage who would sully your honor as a knight. Whatever." The Assassin leapt down and landed just outside the light. He rose to his full height, just a shade shorter than the Rider himself, before he walked forward amidst the sound of rattling chains.

Clad in a form-fitting black bodysuit that covered it entirely from head to toe, the only other semblance of color on the Servant was the vivid white markings upon the eyes and the M-shaped marking across his chest alongside the blood red of his massive cloak and the sharpened hands of its gloves. A pair of hellion skulls sat as clasps for his cloak at the clavicle with a larger one sitting as a buckle at the waist.

The purest black of darkness, the sharp white of bone, and the murky red of blood all intertwined…

These are the colors of a man's death… and a monster's birth.

The Masters that could see the Assassin, those on the battleground and he who lurked on the crates above alongside his apprentice, knew not the creature for what it was. Neither did the Rider, who thought the guise impressive, or the Lancer who thought the costume a foolish means of inspiring fear. The Berserker and the Saber on the other hand…

"… Irisviel. Run. Run and whatever you do, do NOT look back."

"Saber?" asked the pale-skinned woman before her eyes were suddenly drawn to the Berserker. They widened in surprise for the faint rattling that she had heard was from the quivering of the mad knight's armor as he backed away in fear of what stood before him.

The Saber never once took her eyes off the Assassin as she spoke though her own shoulders held a minute quiver to them. "Please. There's no time to explain. Just go. GO!"

Irisviel looked to the Assassin and then down at the splattered remains of El-Melloi shivered in revulsion before nodding once to her Servant's command and ran off into the darkness.

The Saber moved carefully up to stand besides the Rider. "If you care at all for the wellbeing of your Master then you should do as I had done and send him away to safety, Rider."

The Rider merely cocked an eyebrow at the swordswoman's words. "He is merely an Assassin, Saber."

"There is nothing mere about that _thing_, Rider. Do not say that I didn't warn you." Still with her eyes upon the Assassin's unmoving form, she addressed the Lancer. "Forgive me Lancer but I'm afraid that I must intrude upon your vengeance. Alone, you will not succeed any better than I but together we might just have a chance."

The Lancer would have refused her aid, would have even scorned her for besmirching his honor and integrity as a knight, but there was something in the Saber's eyes he had not seen even in the midst of their battle when he came within inches of taking her life.

Fear.

"Do as you wish, the both of you. I have no quarrel with the man yet and I must confess, I find myself curious to see just what kind of prowess one must possess to inspire such a reaction from the King of Knights." The Rider's usual jovial tone was gone as he spoke as the proper King of Conquerors that he was. His gaze went to the Assassin.

If she dared to take her eyes off the Assassin, the Saber would have leveled a glare upon the Rider of such magnitude that would have killed lesser men. "You're a fool, Rider. A damnable fool."

Still, there was one more…

"I know not your quarrel with me, Berserker but if you too recognize this fiend for what it is than you know the danger it brings merely from being here. Be it your own or that of your Master, cast aside your animosity and help us to slay this monster."

The Berserker turned his crimson gaze upon the King of Knights. His form stilled and his head lowered down for a moment before he suddenly reared it back with a mad scream as streamers of shadows ripped themselves free from his back. The bloodied veins of the pole that he clutched tightly in his clawed gauntlets pulsed with the sudden fury of the Berserker's madness.

"So, that's how it's going to be is it?" The Assassin spoke more to himself than the other Servants.

He had no chance alone, not with both the Lancer and the Saber against him with the possibility of the Rider aiding them and the silent thrashings of the Berserker who was nearly tearing at the bit to lash out and attack despite the command of his Master. He hadn't tried to exercise the Noble Phantasm that he possessed, not beyond calling those whom he had known when he was resurrected in Los Angeles. It was a simple thing to speak to those whom he had known for just as he had known them so too did they know him and so answered to him readily without words needing to be spoken.

For once in his life, though admittedly this would technically be his third, he did the diplomatic approach.

_For they whom we plunged into the depths of Hell… For we who would not bow our heads to the Devil's will… Come and aid me now…_ His silent call echoed into the blackened abyss and was answered by more than he assumed would listen let alone reply.

The electricity flickered as the shadows rippled like disturbed waters.

They had arrived.

"_The Unrelenting Tide…_" whispered the Assassin shortly before the shadows behind the Assassin detached themselves and took to their own opponents.

The Saber had time enough to raise her sword as the buzzing fangs of the chainsaw came swinging down with a roar. She grunted from the force of the overhead swing and buckled to keep her sword upraised against the tearing teeth of the chainsaw.

"I'll have you know, while this chainsaw is no Noble Phantasm, it's strong enough to rend even a Heroic Spirit to pieces. So get ready to join the decomposed!" A dark chuckle, "Who knows, I may leave you with a face as handsome as this!"

The Saber glanced up at the face of her opponent and bit back a cry of revulsion.

Flesh, rotted from countless years in the dirt and bearing more scars than any human could possess and live to brag about. One such wound had even refused to heal properly and by necessity or lack of other options the chainsaw-wielding Zombie, for no better name could be attributed to this hellion, had taken a length of shoestring and had stitched the wound shut.

The Lancer had no chance to try and aid the Saber, not when a sharp naginata nearly separated his head from his neck. The warrior whom wielded it was one the likes of which the Lancer had never seen, could never have expected. For though the armor he bore was that of stunning red and blinding gold, the man beneath the armor did not share in the beauty. Elephantine skin blackened as soot, claws to make a tiger's own pale by comparison, and legs more befitting to a draconic Beast than a warrior of the Lance. The Lancer was luckier than the Saber in some regard, for the Mandarin's face was at least covered by an oni mask.

"What are you?" muttered the Lancer.

"A wiser man than I once said, _I am not bothered by the fact that I am not understood_." The Mandarin answered. "_I am bothered when I do not know others_."

"… What?"

A pained sigh, "Must I be surrounded by ignorant barbarians…?"

The Berserker found himself carrying a shortened steel shaft and a shield crumpled from the charge that sent the mad knight flying through the air and impacting hard enough into a steel crate with enough force that he exploded out on the other side dreadfully close to killing his own hidden Master. The Berserker's assailant came flying after him with saber upraised. It did not so much crash against the Berserker's shield so much as it sliced straight through it and the Berserker's arm besides.

"Do you think the shadows would hide your identity from the likes of me, Oath-Breaker?" The Knight asked the Berserker as ethereal flames alighted upon his blade. "That the darkness would aid you and hinder me? I WAS BORN OF DARKNESS!"

Yet while all of this went on, the Rider had not moved to aid or to hinder, at least not beyond knocking his Master unconscious with a flick to the noggin. He merely stood watching the Assassin who had also remained where he was, a part of and yet separated from the violence that was laying waste to the docks.

"Are you really just going to stand there and watch?" asked the Assassin. "Didn't you intend to make them your allies in this War?"

The Rider shrugged. "I admitted to my curiosity and you heard them refute my offer of friendship. I have no reason to aid or hinder them. Though I suppose her highness there should be grateful to you."

"Hmm?"

"Do you think that I hadn't noticed, lad? You struck down Lancer's Master before Saber's own even had a chance. You intended this, all of this, from the very beginning," said the Rider, gesturing to the battle royal going on around them. "The only question is why? Whatever you were, whatever you may yet still be you are an Assassin. Yet you made a spectacle of yourself, you drew the eyes of not one but four Servants upon you, three of which are of the Knight Class no less.

"Why?"

"… You truly have no idea just what I am… Do you?" The Assassin shook his head in wonder at the notion. "Sorry, but I'm not one for words. I let my actions speak for me."

"Hn. Very well then. Let our actions speak for us both then." The Rider disembarked from his chariot. His hand reached for the sword at his side but stopped short. He smirked and clenched the hand tightly. He took a combative stance. "Whenever you're ready, Assassin."

The Assassin looked at the man in silence for a long moment before he spoke, "You're not all there are you? Still…"

The Assassin's cloak rippled once and suddenly came alive to bind itself tightly across its bearer's form, soft fabrics hardening to beyond any mundane metal and solidifying as crimson armor. A pair of massively long chains that both bore a fanged skull as a weight on their ends rose upward like twin serpents, blackened sockets aglow with emerald light equal to the glow of the Assassin's own eyes. The Assassin's right foot slid back as both hands came up as fists but it was not a boxer's stance that the Servant took but that of a practitioner of the martial arts.

"If you want to die that badly, I have no problem killing those who are already dead…"

* * *

**Through the next gazing of the Kaleidoscope...**

_"The Deity"_

* * *

**Statistics:**

**Class:** Assassin  
**Identity:** Ken Kurosawa (A Shadow of Spawn)  
**Basic Stats:**  
_Alignment:_ Lawful Evil  
_Noble Phantasms: _A++_  
Strength:_ B – A*  
_Mana:_ EX*  
_Endurance:_ B – A*  
_Agility:_ C – B*  
_Luck:_ E

**Class Skills:**_  
Independent Action: _B  
_Magic Resistance:_ B  
_Presence Concealment:_ A+

**Personal Skills:  
**_Battle Continuation: _A_  
Japanese Martial Arts:_ B_  
Nature of a Rebellious Spirit:_ A_  
Reorganization of Injury:_ C*  
_Revelation:_ B*  
_Self-Modification:_ A*

*See Necroplasm: The Uniform of Hell's Generals

**Noble Phantasms:**  
_Necroplasm: The Uniform of Hell's Generals:_ A+++  
_For a Continued Existence: TAKE IT ALL!:_ A+  
_The Unrelenting Tide: We Who Share the Title (Shadows):_ EX

Exposition:  
**_Necroplasm: The Uniform of Hell's Generals:_** A+++  
A pseudo-living Noble Phantasm, the _Necroplasm_ is in fact the "costume", a reflection of the true parasitic symbiote that all Hellspawn are granted upon their creation in the black pits of Hell. Like the Hellspawns upon which they are grafted, each and every Necroplasm is unique to its wearer though many inherent skills and powers are common. These skills and abilities are limited only by the imagination/perception of the host and include, but certainly not limited to, regeneration, teleportation, telepathy, flight, and resurrecting the recently deceased. Due to its nature as a Noble Phantasm, Ken's Necroplasm is inherently weaker compared to the real thing insomuch that holy weapons forged on Earth can seriously wound him and a truly mortal blow, such as beheading, can kill him. It should be noted that the unique capabilities of this particular Necroplasm is the ability to conform itself into a form-fitting crimson body armor that increases Ken's Strength, Endurance, & Agility by a whole rank.

**_For a Continued Existence: TAKE IT ALL!:_** A+  
An anti-unit Noble Phantasm, _For a Continued Existence_ is based on an ability possessed by Ken that was not only unique for a Shadow of Spawn but an impossibility as noted by the Arch-Demon Beelzebub. Only activated in a life-or-death moment, this Noble Phantasm allows Ken to drain an enemy Servant's prana though in order to do so he must be in direct contact with them, i.e. choking the "life" right out of them. While this may not outright kill a Servant, it can severely weaken them whilst empowering Ken back to full strength.

**_The Unrelenting Tide: We Who Share the Title (Shadows):_** EX  
A Noble Phantasm similar in nature to Hassan-i-Sabbah's _Zabaniya: Delusional Illusion_, _The Unrelenting Tide_ summons forth any Hellspawn created prior to Ken's with one minor exception. Unlike the (_True_) version of this Noble Phantasm, (_Shadows_) can only recreate a Shadow of Spawn, a Hellspawn who was summoned simultaneously with another and who are inherently weaker than their "true" brethren. The majority of these Shadows of Spawn are those who were active for barely a year yet created enough upheaval in the realms of the Afterlife that their histories are legend, even amongst the forces of Hell.

Notable Shadows include but are not limited to:

_The Mangler_  
Real Name: Inapplicable  
Year of Activation: Unknown  
Unique Features: Only known animal Hellspawn, specifically a species of hereto unknown wolf.  
Side-Note: Despite being an animal in life, has gained an increased intelligence and can communicate telepathically.

_The Zombie_  
Real Name: Cheveyo  
Place/Year of Activation: The Black Mesa, mid to late 1400's  
Unique Features: Incredibly decayed due to the loss/possible removal of his Necroplasm suit.  
Side-Note: In his years warring against the forces of Hell, Cheveyo had amassed a large array of weaponry geared specifically towards the undead and the demonic all of which were created on the notion of there being no such thing as excessive force.

_The Mandarin  
_Real Name: Chenglei  
Place/Year of Activation: China, the dying years of the Sung Dynasty  
Unique Features: Due to suffering from elephantiasis in life, Chenglei bares more resemblance to a draconic man-beast than most other Hellspawns.  
Side-Note: Chenglei is rumored to be the only Hellspawn to rule one of the Nine Circles of Hell alongside his queen, a concubine he had likely rescued before storming Hell's Gates with an army of undead.

_The Knight  
_Real Name: Sir John of York  
Place/Year of Activation: Bahavia, the Dark Ages  
Unique Features: Contrary to most Hellspawns, Sir John relies rarely on the abilities of his Necroplasm beyond the creation/formation of sharpened steel.  
Side-Note: Rather than seeking vengeance, Sir John sought redemption for his sins and had even taken a lover of the then bearer of the Witchblade, a woman he had loved in life and one whom continued to love him in death.


	9. The Deity

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* * *

Saber… masters of swords whose own legends often surpass beyond they who wield them. Lancer… wielders of spears, lances, any and all weapons that provide the extra reach that make striking them down all but impossible. Archer… the true masters of the long-range weaponry who possess such incredible strength of will that they virtually become their own masters. Rider… they who've mastered their mounts to such a degree that even upon their own feet they are a passing blur to untrained eyes. Caster… magicians, sorcerers, witches, and warlocks, they are the artisans of the magical arts, purveyors of spells and enchantments long lost to modern time and its scientific convention. Berserker… the mad dogs of war whose sheer physical might is rivaled only by their inhuman madness… Assassin… the shadow walkers who move silent and unseen by their victims until their blades are buried to the hilt in their heart.

Fourteen combatants in all, the seven Masters and the seven Servants whom they call forth from the Throne of Heroes to fight and kill to attain that which was named as the Holy Grail, that their wishes may be granted, one to the living and one to the dead. An absolute balance, a perfected measure of control… but a war is a war, and like all rules that have come before and like so many that will follow, they are broken.

Shattered.

Ignored.

Yet no higher price could be paid by the breaking of the simplest of rules for there, in the Holy Grail, existed something of… a loophole. Seven Masters and seven Servants, fourteen combatants in all. No more, no less.

Until the other classes were revealed… until one class was exploited.

Avenger… they whose lives were spent in the name of vengeance be it for themselves or others… It is not a true class, a substitute and nothing more. It was never meant to be used for few heroes of the past could fill the standard, and rare was it that the gifts of being an Avenger were welcomed. Summoned from frustration and slaughtered before the folly could be discovered, that which whom was called as Avenger was he who had, in life, been a sacrifice against all that is sin, all that is evil, all that is abhorrent of mankind. In his demise as a Servant, he had done what he had in life and so it was not the soul of an innocent, a soul of an avenging hero that was swept into the Holy Grail.

No.

What it was… what it is…

It is Sin.

It is Evil.

It is everything that mankind hates, loathes, and abhors about itself… all this and so much more was poured into the Holy Grail until that which it had been was no more. There was no holiness to this blackened Grail. The hellish monstrosity summoned forth by Avenger saw to that quite well. Yet… even in the deepest of darkness… there can be a spark, a tiny speck, of light that still shines, a soul willingly sacrificed so that a shared dream may together be realized.

The Grail has become corrupted… controlled by the Evils of the World but there is enough of its core, of _her_ original self, that retains, that remembers…

That all rules are made to be broken… and perhaps, just perhaps… a child born of the World once united and whole… a scion loved still when the World became divided… a lady of peace could bring an end to this depraved War… and with her shining light, pierce the darkness within the heart of the Holy Grail…

* * *

**_From Across the Throne of Heroes_**

_"The Deity"_

* * *

No one who knew the man personally, professionally, or by reputation could deny that Tokiomi Tohsaka is a meticulous man though a few of the former rather than the later would interject with an addition that such a word is hardly befitting. Tokiomi Tohsaka did nothing by margins or by halves, it was either all the way through or going above and beyond what anyone could expect of him.

Why, look what he had done to one of his twin daughters after all. Sisters they were still in blood but no longer were they identical in appearance if only differing by length and style of hair.

Such lengths were what Tokiomi had gone to ensure that his chosen child and the one whom he abandoned would not be linked together, that they were indeed two people unrelated by flesh and blood despite the heartbreak it brought to his wife. Tokiomi had no idea of the agonies that he had inflicted upon Sakura, pains that would echo in Rin's nightmares for years to come such was the bound of twins. Worst than all of this, had he known of the outcomes of his choices, Tokiomi could not say with perfect honesty that he would have done right by his children.

And that, more than anything else, is why in the days to come, Tokiomi Tohsaka will truly realize his place on the totem pole.

For as stated time and time again, Tokiomi Tohsaka does not do anything in minute measures. He does it to the fullest or beyond whatever limitations it might possess. He had already guaranteed for himself an… ally of sorts for this war, his apprentice whose reputation in the Church near equaled that of the infamous Magus Killer though for entirely different reasons. That young Kirei Kotomine had managed to summon the Servant Assassin to use as a spy was not a bonus but a careful calculation.

Just as Tokiomi's own Servant was to be.

For you see, as all Servants before and likely many Servants to come afterwards, should the Holy Grail Wars need to be continued, a catalyst was needed to summon the desired Servant. Be it an added line to the aria, as is the case of the Assassin and Berserker classes, that would only ensure that the appropriate class would be assigned and not always the desired Heroic Spirit. No, something physical, something _real_, had to be used to bring forth the desired Servant and what Tokiomi desired was the best of the best.

He wanted Gilgamesh, the fifth king of Uruk and one of the first of mankind's legends to be put to paper, or cuneiform as the case is. A legend of such incredible age surely had to possess a power unrivaled by the likes of the more commonly acknowledged, of this Tokiomi had no doubt and in a roundabout way, he was indeed correct.

With age comes wisdom… but not always.

No, most definitely not always…

For you see, Tokiomi had rightfully found the proper catalyst to ensure his summoning of Gilgamesh, a fossil of snake's skin the likes of which made the specimen itself to be one of if not the first example of its kind. One of the many tales of Gilgamesh was of his encounter with a serpent that stole from him the elixir of restorative youth and left only its shed skin behind as a parting gift for its crime.

Admittedly it was not a very sound reason to believe that the skin would summon Gilgamesh alone but Tokiomi had devised a means to counter any other possible Heroic Spirit. Tokiomi had added a lyric to his summoning aria to ensure only one with the blood of gods flowing through their veins was to be summoned as his Servant and he was correct to do so.

But alas, like all of humankind, Tokiomi was prone to making mistakes and though they are few and far between, he made one this night as he called forth for his Servant to appear before him and his allies in this war, Risei & Kirei Kotomine, the Overseer of the Holy Grail War and his son, the Master of the Assassin. Such a minute mistake that it was, one could hardly blame Tokiomi's first words to the Servant whom had appeared.

"You… are not Gilgamesh…"

A great many reasons were there for this statement, chief and foremost was the fact that the Servant was female followed quite closely by the fact that her complexion was that of an Oriental much like the three men she stood before. These facts were made all the more obvious in the shining pale furisode, the most formal kimono worn by the unmarried and the coming-of-age women. The deep red obi she wore bore a magnificent flock of rainbow-hued butterflies that sparkled like stars. Her hair was of the purest white and was cut remarkably short for a woman, a boy's cut some could say, save for two long strands that vaguely resembled antennae curling forward upon her brow. Hanging from her ears were a pair of golden earrings, golden circlets around something akin to the cross and yet not quite the same symbol of the Christian faith.

Her head was bowed but that was all of the respect she showed to Tokiomi.

"How were you summoned instead of him?" asked Tokiomi more to himself than to her. "The catalyst I used should have—" He cut himself off as she held out a hand with a single finger outstretched to serve as a perch for what allowed her summoning.

A butterfly.

Tokiomi's eyes widened in realization and he turned sharply to the room's sole opening to the outside world, the window upon the ceiling which allowed the light of the moon to shine directly into the chamber on certain, ritualistic nights.

A window he had left opened after the last of one his daughter's… mishaps.

Fortunately, Tokiomi was far more levelheaded than most and so did not succumb to the desire to curse like a sailor. In fact, he was so composed that he was ready to address his Servant when she silenced whatever words he had to say with her own.

It was then that the Servant raised her head to face Tokiomi. Her eyes remained closed but there upon her brow was a trio of emeralds no larger than a seed each and whose arrangement was that of an inverted triangle.

"Whether or not you intended for me, I am here. The question remains, Tokiomi Tohsaka, whether or not you will have me be your Archer?" Hers was not a voice that could come from a human mouth. No such sounds of human words could ever compare to the music that was hers, the words that with every utterance did not demand or ask for attention but received it all the same. Not a voice of authority but certainly one that should not be ignored.

_By the Root… What have I summoned…?_

Oh Tokiomi… if only you knew…

If only you knew…

* * *

The Assassin was frightened of the Archer and it had nothing to do with how easily the Servant of the Bow had killed one of her fractured personalities. No, a large part of it had to do with _how_ the Pale Woman had done so and even a day later the Assassin couldn't understand just what the Servant had done to her.

By all accounts, her Noble Phantasm made her as "broken" as she had been in life. Every aspect of her fractured psyche in her mortal life now lived in a separate body fit for that mind. It's what made sacrificing the more… arrogant aspect of herself easier to deal with had it not been for the agony of whatever enchantment the Archer had placed upon her. That part of the Assassin had been slain, wiped away in a beam of light so bright that it could have turned the night to day had it not been so quick. Yet, what should have been but a sudden silence in the echoing recesses of the Assassin's mind became no such thing.

The voice of arrogance was not gone nor had it remained.

Her voice, the voice of… the "dominant" personality… had grown louder.

And so the Assassin feared the Archer. She feared her as much as she adored her and wanted for her to finish what she had started for intentional or not, the Archer had granted a small portion of the Assassin's wish.

To be of one mind and one body…

_What was she in life that she can do this in death?_ Wondered the astralized Assassin as she crouched atop a crane whilst another aspect sat at the fore in materialized form watching the spectacle going on below. Their backs were pressed against the other and were she materialized they'd both appear almost as a mirrored copy to the other for this particular aspect was the closest to her in form and function if not in personality.

"Is it smart for the both of us to be here together?" asked the aspect she privately dubbed "Cautionary". "What purpose is there in the both of us being here together? What can you see that I can't sister?"

_More than you realize brother. Far more than you realize…_ Aloud, she answered him with, "You know of Archer's abilities. Doubtlessly she's well aware of the conflict below and is on her way here if she's not here already. Two points of view will only serve to aid us in understanding her."

"Sooner than you realize sister. There's the Rider now…"

* * *

It was the Lancer who saw her first, his eyes taking immediate note of her distinctive materialization. It was hard not to given that she appeared from the midst of a swarm of glowing butterflies that shone in a colorful radiance. His spears were already lowered from the Rider's interruption followed by the man's foolish proposal of an alliance, but even so the Lancer was sorely tempted to dismiss them entirely for never in all of his mortal life had he seen a vision as lovely as this.

Yet it wasn't so much her appearance that made her beautiful in the eyes of the Lancer. It was something beyond what the eyes could see, something that only the heart and soul can take notice of. The Lancer knew that the Archer was someone to trust, someone to respect, not for accomplishments past but because whatever her station was, she approached them on even ground with closed eyes and a gentle smile. He bowed his head in acknowledgment to her presence.

"Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, son of Donn, foster child of Aengus Óg… First warrior of the knights of Fianna and cursed to be truly loved but never to love truly." She turned her head slightly upwards, her closed gaze now upon the Rider. "Alexander III of Macedon, descendant of the Lord of Olympus, Zeus… A conqueror without equal then and still so now in this modern world as to deserve the title of King of Conquerors…" At last her unseen eyes fell to the Saber. "Arturia Pendragon, daughter of Uther Pendragon, adopted child of Sir Ector, blood bearer of the Red Dragon, Y Ddraig Goch… The Once and Future King whose entire existence is the epitome of knighthood at its greatest, a King of Knights as Alexander has so eloquently put it."

"You… are Archer?" asked Irisviel in a cautious manner. Despite the Servant's oriental appearance, she was apparently quite well versed in legendary figures from across the—

"Irisviel von Einzbern, homunculus based upon the first homunculus of the Einzbern family to possess that which closely resembles "the soul" Justeaze Lizrich von Einzbern, wife to Kiritsugu Emiya the Magus Killer who has killed only a fourth as many as he has saved throughout the entirety of his life, and mother to Ilyasviel." The Archer tilted her head and smiled at the stunned woman but it was a touch sad as she continued, "Your child is destined to live in interesting times, Irisviel… but that is the future and right now, the present requires more of our attention."

The Archer turned her head towards the starry sky above for a moment before fully to face the Rider and though she still kept her eyes closed, the hidden Assassins did not doubt for a moment that she could see them. She looked down and smiled gently at the kneeling form of the Rider's young Master.

"Do not heed the words of your former teacher, Waver Velvet. You have the makings of a great man in you and even in your youth, you are already the better man." She smiled and for a moment, young Waver felt that the World itself was on his side… "After all, you are here regardless of your fears."

"I… Thank you but… Just who are you?" Waver didn't think she'd give the answer he'd hoped she would but given how openly she had addressed everyone presently… There had to be some skill or Noble Phantasm at work for no mage could be so thorough to provide such information so quickly to their Servant.

The Archer's smile lost some of its joy as a familiarized sadness became evident on her face. "My name has no meaning to you or anyone for there is no one in the entirety of this country that knows of me and mine. If knowing my name appeases your curiosity though, I shall tell you. My name is—"

She cut herself off by sudden turning to bare her back to the Servants as another emerged in an explosion of bloodied shadows.

"That's…!" gasped Irisviel.

"Berserker?!" finished the Saber.

The Black Knight roared in a hellish fury and charged for the Archer's throat to be crushed in his clawed gauntlets and was immediately blown back by a tight trio of emerald beams of light that erupted from the Archer's forehead. The blast was powerful enough to send the Berserker slamming into a lamppost, bringing it crashing down behind him. The triad of jewels upon the Archer's brow pulsed to the beat of a heart, their glow dying down with her sudden shock as the Berserker reached down and _claimed_ the lamppost as his, making unto it a Noble Phantasm.

The cold steel of the lamppost became black as moonless night as vessels red as freshly spilled blood raced across its surface.

"… What in Mother's name?" whispered the Archer not for the claiming for like the Servants she had already announced, by way of what she was in life and what she still is even as a Servant she knew the Berserker despite the shadows masking his identity from those without a clairvoyant's gaze. No, she knew him and expected the claiming and transformation of the mundane into a Noble Phantasm.

What she was not expecting was the corruption.

_Was this why you allowed my summoning, Mother?_ The Archer had no time to try and listen for an answer as the Berserker charged once more to crush her like a bug. The Berserker's makeshift staff came crashing down from on high and still the Archer refused to move.

For this was not the night where she was meant to die.

"_Eden._" The trio of gems upon the Archer's brow flared with the light of a newly born star, blinding all who were watching even those who were gazing with magical means. By the time their sights were restored, the Berserker and the Archer both were gone with naught but a strange sigil upon the ground which they both had stood upon.

The cross sitting proudly atop a shining star, both bound together within the circle of eternity…

* * *

Kariya was retching painfully onto the ground, the last remnants of the crest worms leaving him in another slew of blood and mucus. His left eye throbbed painfully, his sight coming back slowly with every agonizing thump of his heart. Across from the kneeling man stood the Berserker, alive, undamaged, and seemingly without change but for one minor detail. The hellish glow of the Black Knight's visor while still quite vibrant in its intensity, was no longer a reddish hue but now a knightly azure. At Kariya's side with her hand gently stroking his back as the shards of Eden upon her brow worked their power upon him was the kneeling Archer who whispered soothingly to the coughing Kariya.

"Wh-Why are… you…" Kariya coughed one last piece of vile worm from his throat and shivered in disgust. "Why are you… helping me…?"

"I can read your heart just as I can anyone else but I won't lie to you. I did what I did for your Servant for reasons I cannot share with you. Not yet." The Archer said. "And besides…" She looked to the silent and unmoving Berserker. "There are some things that Tokiomi has failed to inform me of in regards to the Grail."

Kariya couldn't help the dark, despondent chuckle that ached in his lungs. "That… _bastard_… has a penchant for that…"

The Archer quirked her head, surprised as the venom in that single word that so eloquently described the mage that commanded her in this War. "Is that why you set your Servant upon me so violently?"

The faintest sound of trembling steel was the only indication of how the Berserker felt about that. To both their credit, Kariya at least possessed the good grace to look away from the Archer like a child whose hand had been caught rough-housing one time too many.

"What he did… What he did to—!" Kariya began another coughing fit and choked on the words he could not speak to express his hatred for the man. A placating hand held him up, his exhausted eyes falling upon closed lids.

"Be at peace, Kariya. Open your heart fully to me and I shall see what traps it in such vile darkness." The two strands so much like antennae twitched forward and pressed themselves gently to Kariya's brow. The young mage didn't know how the Archer could do this or even the method behind it, his studies in the mystical arts never once touching upon those of the mental persuasion, so he did what he thought was best.

He opened his mind to the Archer and left nothing out.

To the Berserker, all of a minute had passed but when the Archer had leaned back from his Master did the Mad Servant take a step back. For though outwardly she appeared no different than before the Berserker could feel the wrath broiling like a sea beneath that peaceful exterior. She rose regally to her feet and instinct made the Berserker kneel before her as he had done for his King for though the Archer was not a royal, she commanded equal if not greater respect.

"Twin daughters…" whispered the Archer, a single tear falling from her closed eyes. She looked down at the Master of the Berserker and opened her eyes to him. He gasped at the stunning sight of jeweled azure reflecting a thousand times over in eyes not befitting that of a human but that of an insect.

"What…?"

"You have my thanks Kariya, formerly of the clan Matou. Tonight, the rules of this War change. Tonight…" The Seeds of Eden upon her brow flared with the light of a corona. "I will live up to the title your people have for me…"

* * *

Tokiomi sat alone in his office in the ancestral home of his family. He swirled a drink of wine as he gazed out in the extravagant backyard. Commanding powers he could not fathom, the Archer had shown him everything that she had seen in the heart of his wife's childhood friend and so here he sat.

Waiting.

The ground trembled once, the night lighting up with a force to make the sun itself envious from the intensity. All that Tokiomi did in reaction to this was reach over and adjust the desktop lamp that had been knocked slightly askew. He refilled his empty glass and looked once more to the courtyard, taking note of an errant butterfly that had somehow found its way inside his study. It landed on the knuckles of his left hand, wings sparkling in the moonlight before setting off once more somewhere behind him.

"Have you come to kill me Archer?" He turned in his chair and though he had expected the sight of his second child in his Servant's arms, he could not have suspected the sight that he beheld.

The Archer stood at the closed door, one arm cradling the sleeping form of his daughter Sakura as she had been before she was given to the Matou family. Brown locks instead of purple and if her eyes were open, Tokiomi would not doubt that he'd see a familiar emerald glare set upon him.

"I have killed before, Tokiomi Tohsaka. Countless of human lives wiped away as dust on the wind. Never once did I enjoy it nor did I glorify in it as my brother did. He sought destruction for all who would harm our Mother but I… I care for Her Children as She does, even if such love is all but forgotten now in this modern world." She sighed and stroked the sleeping Sakura's hair with a gentle caress of a mother. "So rest easy, Tokiomi. You will live still, but never more shall you be called my Master. That title is shared now with your daughters."

The butterfly flittered gently upon Sakura's right hand and with a quick flash of crimson light, a Command Spell appeared to Tokiomi's astonishment. The head of the Tohsaka family looked to his hand to find that it no longer bore any such sigils upon its surface.

"How…?"

"You have Makiri Zolgen to thank or as he is more recently known," The Archer held out a finger and let the gray-winged butterfly take roost upon it. "Zouken Matou."

* * *

The Archer approached slowly from the darkness, the last errant glowing butterfly entering into her form as she stepped forward into the moonlit courtyard of Einzbern Castle. The Saber gripped at her invisible sword, readying to stand and attack the Servant of the Bow should she make the wrong move.

"Archer, what business do you have here?"

"Ah, I saw her in town earlier today. She's the one who suggested we meet like this actually." The Rider confessed with a hearty chuckle before turning somber eyes to the Archer. "I take it that you were unable to convince Lancer to attend as well?"

The Archer shook her head. "Diarmuid's Master sits on the brink of death thanks to Arturia's own. His code will not allow him to leave the man's side even with circumstances being what they are."

"So serious! Take a seat with us Archer and wet your tongue with this drink. Admittedly not the best I've had but one makes do with what they have available to them." The Rider held out the drinking spoon to the Archer.

The White Lady had an amused smile upon her face as she took the offered utensil. "You have hardly changed at all since last I saw you Alexander." She took a drink before taking a seat between the Rider and the Saber. "Not bad but might I offer these in place of a single spoon to share between us?" The Archer reached into the sleeve of her kimono and pulled forth three more spoons. She returned the Rider's, offered one to the Saber, and kept the second for herself whilst she gathered sake in the third.

"I thought you said you were unable to talk Lancer into coming?" asked the Saber.

The Archer nodded. "I could not."

The shadows moved forward of their own accord as the Berserker materialized before them, visor glowing softly with a deep, blue light.

"But I managed to convince him." The Archer smiled up at the Mad Servant whilst there were a multitude of different reactions from those gathered in the courtyard. Waver and Irisviel both were clearly afraid of the Blackened Knight, though the younger held less of the control the elder did and so appeared quite close to losing any control he possessed over his bowels at any moment. The Rider was as much surprised as he was intrigued both by the Archer's apparent skills as a diplomat and in the changes he saw in the Berserker. The Saber on the other hand… well she looked torn between furious as all hell and stunned out of her mind.

Unfortunately, fury was quickly outpacing the shock.

"Why would you bring him here?" asked the Saber, never once relaxing her grip upon her sword or allowing her eyes to waver away from the shadow enshrouded form of the Mad Servant.

"Because it is my hope that he will convince you should I fail for there is none better than he to give testimony to the truth."

"What truth is that, Archer?" asked the Rider, taking a drink of sake which he promptly spat out at her answer.

"The Holy Grail is corrupted. All that will come from it is destruction and death."

"What?!" yelled the Saber, finally tearing her eyes away from the Berserker to focus all of her anger upon the Archer who serenely sat beside her. "You… You couldn't possibly expect us to believe such a bald-faced lie do you?!"

"The Grail was meant to summon Heroic Spirits and only those who could be called as such in the lives they led. Yet in this War the Grail has summoned not one but _two_ such individuals who are anything but heroes. You have already seen them both already Arturia. Can you tell me in all honesty that there is anything heroic to Gilles de Rais who spent the last eight years of his mortal life committing atrocities upon innocent children? Atrocities that he commits still now in the name he falsely attributes to you?"

The Saber looked away, unable to counter any of the Archer's words.

"What of you then, Archer?" asked the Rider. "What are you that you do not consider yourself a Heroic Spirit like the three of us?" The Berserker's head turned sharply to the King of Conqueror's inclusion of him as a hero.

The Archer cradled her drink silently for a moment. "I have been called many things throughout the entirety of my lifetimes… But I suppose that if at least some of you are to recognize a fraction of who I am and what I am capable of… The mages of this age have a name for those like myself. They call us… the Counter Force."

Irisviel gasped, her already pale complexion whitening even further while Waver simply fainted. Too bad for him, for there was more that the Archer had yet to say for herself. Though their knowledge of the Counter Force was granted to them by the Grail itself, neither the Saber or the Rider reacted to the Archer's words for neither could attest in their history, both mortal and Servant, to find a reason to fear the White Lady who sat kneeling before them both.

Foolishly brave or bravely foolish…

"But I am nothing like the others. I am not a Beast of Alaya, the Will of Humanity nor am I a Beast of Gaia, the Will of the Planet. I was born from Earth, whole and united, and so I serve Her still, broken though she has become." She held out a hand and regarded it with a sad smile. "This is a borrowed form granted to me by the Grail. Were I in my true body, you would not think to include me with the likes of your or Arturia, Alexander."

She opened her eyes at last, revealing them to the two Servants for the true inhumanity that she possessed. "By Mother's interference or by a foolish decision from the Grail itself, I am here now and I intend to see the corruption within it destroyed."

The Saber refused to back down, though she inwardly shivered at the sheer _enormity_ behind the Archer's insect-like gaze when it fell upon her. "You said that you brought him to give testimony to your claims," said the King of Knights. She turned her emerald eyes upon the Berserker. "I for one would like to hear what he has to say."

The Berserker remained still as stone for a long moment before the shadows of darkness surrounding him slowly flowed forth into his right hand, revealing himself fully for the first time.

The Saber's eyes widened in recognition of the suit of armor. "N-No… It… It can't be…"

The darkness hardened into a blackened blade once blessed by holy design but blackened by the betrayal's of its wielder.

The Saber knew that sword.

"Ar-Arondight…!"

She knew it as she knew her own, just as she knew the man who was its master. The Berserker's helmet vanished in a sudden flare of shadows. A pale complexion with locks of black hair that could almost be purple under the right light. Eyes so filled with self-loathing that any tears they could shed would never make up for the blood once spilt in the name of love. With a voice of reverence, the Berserker kneeled down before the Saber.

"My King…"

"Sir… Lancelot…"

* * *

She should have known.

She should have expected this.

The Caster was mad in life and apparently twice more so in death.

To use powers beyond his comprehension, to try and tame that which could not be controlled…

Madness.

Standing on the shore, the Archer could not do anything more than what as an eldritch horror from Before the Beginning slowly trekked forth as it became fully corporeal in this Present Age. The Rider's lightning could barely scorch the abomination's flesh, the Saber's sword could only cut what would quickly be regenerated, and the Archer's arrows of light… Were as a hornet's sting to a bear. An irritant but hardly dissuading from the easy meal set before it.

"I'm scared… Archer…"

"Me too…"

The White Lady looked down at her charges, each clutching tightly to her hands. Rin and Sakura, twin daughters of the Archer's summoner and now her new Masters by grace of the Command Seals they shared on opposite hands. One for the each of them and the third…

She kneeled down beside them as Kariya and Tokiomi argued over the better means of making use of the Berserker's _claiming_ of a fighter jet while Aoi tried to act as peacekeeper between them. it might have been better if negotiations hadn't started with Kariya delivering a swift punch to Tokiomi's face, breaking the man's nose and ego both, but given that Aoi had done much worse when she discovered the truth of Sakura's tutelage…

Well, let's just say that the man need not worry for another child.

"Rin… Sakura… I need you to do something for me." The Archer's eyes were open as she stared down into the eyes of her charges. "Command me to become as I was in life, Sakura. Command me to win no matter the cost, Rin."

"What?" gasped Sakura.

"No!" shouted Rin. "If we do that, you could… you could die!"

"Better to have died in defense of a life than living while countless die before me." The Archer said. She smiled and kneeled down before the two of them. "Don't worry… it'll be alright. I will come back. That's a promise."

The twin daughters of the Tohsaka family looked to one another in silence, speaking in ways only siblings truly can, before looking up at the Archer. Rin was the first to speak, taking a haughty stance though there were teardrops in the corner of her eyes.

"_You better win no matter what Archer! _Otherwise you'll tarnish the name Tohsaka!" The light of the Command Seal flared and was extinguished, the _command_ given.

Sakura's shoulders quivered with tears as she looked up at the woman that had saved her in more ways than she could ever name from a monster the likes of which could not be compared even to the eldritch horror that was making way towards rampaging through Fuyuki City.

"Archer…"

"A promise is a promise, Sakura. I'll come back for you and for Rin. I never leave my friends behind, not ever."

Sakura sniffled and nodded once as she closed her eyes. "_Resume your truest form, Archer!_"

The light of the Command Spell flared and was gone.

And so too was the Archer.

A flock of glowing butterflies now fluttered in her place, a flock that was rapidly increasing in numbers and slowly amassing themselves in the sky above but for a single one left behind to whisper gently to the two girls, "Thank you…"

The massive flock of butterflies was nearing the size of a baseball stadium when they suddenly exploded in a burst of neon lights and from the flickering darkness the Archer's true form emerged.

The eldritch horror, sensing the sudden change in reality, twisted sharply and sent forth all of its spiked tentacles towards the sky as the massive butterfly that the Archer had become twisted sharply and dove down, strafing beams of energy from the seeds of Eden placed upon her brow from the Tree of Life. Those that were hit directly exploded in a burst of flesh and blood while those merely nicked by the beams were sliced clean off.

Hovering above the tentacle monstrosity, the Archer's wings began to beat heavily thus creating a sudden gale of winds that nearly blew the retreating Rider and Saber clear to the other side of the river.

Golden scales began to fall from the Archer's wings, sparkling from the energies in the air that was the life force of the two titans. Lightning arced in the growing cloud and the abomination wailed in agony as its own energies were turned back upon it but it wasn't enough. Not enough to kill it. The Archer's wings beat heavier, loosing more scales from them and losing altitude as her wings began to tear and fray with steady loss of support.

At its maker's command, the eldritch horror unleashed a fresh growth of tentacles upon the Archer and caught her tightly in its spiked grip. She screamed as she was dragged down into the waiting jaws of the abomination, but did not strike until she too was immersed in the cloud of her reflective scales.

Only then did she unleash all of the powers of Eden itself.

The resulting explosion vaporized the waters of the river and did much the same for the Caster and his eldritch horror both.

The Archer… was not so longer.

Butterflies were falling dead from the sky, falling like snowflakes of iridescent colors.

The Archer of the Fourth Holy Grail War was dead…

But there was one last _command_ to obey…

A few errant butterflies fluttered weakly into the heart of the forested outskirts of Fuyuki City, gathering tightly together into the form of an small, baby human-sized egg as the shared third command of twin Masters echoed into the woods.

"_Live…_"

* * *

**Through the next gazing of the Kaleidoscope...**

_"The Hero"_

* * *

**Statistics:**

**Class:** Archer  
**Identity:** Mosura  
**Basic Stats:**  
_Alignment:_ Lawful Good  
_Noble Phantasms: _A++_  
Strength:_ B  
_Mana:_ EX*  
_Endurance:_ C – EX**  
_Agility:_ B+  
_Luck:_ E

**Class Skills:**_  
Independent Action: _EX  
_Magic Resistance:_ A

**Personal Skills:  
**_Animal Dialogue: _Unknown_  
Battle Continuation: _A_  
Clairvoyance:_ A  
_Discernment of the Poor:_ A_  
Divinity: _Unknown  
_Eye of the Mind (True)_: A

*See Eden: That Which Fell from the Tree of Life  
**See Adamant: The Shield of Time Primordial

**Noble Phantasms:**  
_Eden: That Which Fell from the Tree of Life:_ A+++  
_Orichalcum: The Last Hope of the Lost Continent:_ Unknown  
_Adamant: The Shield of Time Primordial:_ A++

Exposition:  
**_Eden: That Which Fell from the Tree of Life:_** A+++  
An Anti-Fortress Noble Phantasm, _Eden: That Which Fell from the Tree of Life _is a trio of small, seed-shaped gems lying upon Mosura's brow, hidden just beneath the curls of her ivory bangs. Though not literally the seeds from the Tree of Life itself, the three gems contain within them an enormous portion of the Tree's energies, which increases Mosura's Mana ranking all the way to EX. Via invoking Eden, she is able to use an array of energy-based attacks, most primarily a tri-beam of the natural energies of fire, ice, and lightning from the gems themselves. However the most devastating potential of Eden's full power is not in its ability to destroy, but to create, more specifically to restore…

**_Orichalcum: A Fragment of Hope:_** Unknown  
Similar to Lancelot's _For Someone's Glory_ in that the _Orichalcum: The Last Hope of the Lost Continent_ is a constantly active Anti-Unit Noble Phantasm, the Orichalcum is… vague even to Mosura. It follows the scheme of a Marble Phantasm insomuch that, should Mosura need to, she can pull forth a last-second miracle even when all hope for such an event seems lost. From the sudden attainment of a new ability to the sudden strengthening of one she already possessed, the Orichalcum seems to possess no rhyme or reason to its "miracles" beyond the need of the "miracle"… and Mosura's wellbeing. To put in layman's terms… the closer Mosura is to death, the more likely the Orichalcum is going to activate and bestow upon her a "miracle". Whether that "miracle" is enough to save her from death though is up to Fate's Design…

**_Adamant: The Shield of Time Primordial:_** EX  
Arguably one of the most powerful of all defensive type Noble Phantasms, _Adamant: The Shield of Time Primordial,_ is a body-encompassing suit of armor made of materials lost since the time when the World was young and united with a single, powerful sentience. A time when giants roamed the earth and the sky was empty of anything remotely resembling a lunar body. When the Adamant is donned, Mosura's Endurance increases to EX, which means nothing short of an Anti-World Noble Phantasm is able to pierce the Adamant and so long as she wears it, Mosura is all but immortal. Unfortunately, Mosura can only call upon the Adamant once, and only once, during the span of her summoning and even so, the time she can spend wearing the armor is at best several minutes. Any longer and she risks using up her own energies to the point of death.


	10. The Hero

**DISCLAIMER:** All copyrighted materials belong to their respected owners.

* * *

Saber… masters of swords whose own legends often surpass beyond they who wield them. Lancer… wielders of spears, lances, any and all weapons that provide the extra reach that make striking them down all but impossible. Archer… the true masters of the long-range weaponry who possess such incredible strength of will that they virtually become their own masters. Rider… they who've mastered their mounts to such a degree that even upon their own feet they are a passing blur to untrained eyes. Caster… magicians, sorcerers, witches, and warlocks, they are the artisans of the magical arts, purveyors of spells and enchantments long lost to modern time and its scientific convention. Berserker… the mad dogs of war whose sheer physical might is rivaled only by their inhuman madness… Assassin… the shadow walkers who move silent and unseen by their victims until their blades are buried to the hilt in their heart.

Fourteen combatants in all, the seven Masters and the seven Servants whom they call forth from the Throne of Heroes to fight and kill to attain that which was named as the Holy Grail, that their wishes may be granted, one to the living and one to the dead. An absolute balance, a perfected measure of control… but a war is a war, and like all rules that have come before and like so many that will follow, they are broken.

Shattered.

Ignored.

Yet no higher price could be paid by the breaking of the simplest of rules for there, in the Holy Grail, existed something of… a loophole. Seven Masters and seven Servants, fourteen combatants in all. No more, no less.

Until the other classes were revealed… until one class was exploited.

Avenger… they whose lives were spent in the name of vengeance be it for themselves or others… It is not a true class, a substitute and nothing more. It was never meant to be used for few heroes of the past could fill the standard, and rare was it that the gifts of being an Avenger were welcomed. Summoned from frustration and slaughtered before the folly could be discovered, that which whom was called as Avenger was he who had, in life, been a sacrifice against all that is sin, all that is evil, all that is abhorrent of mankind. In his demise as a Servant, he had done what he had in life and so it was not the soul of an innocent, a soul of an avenging hero that was swept into the Holy Grail.

No.

What it was… what it is…

It is Sin.

It is Evil.

It is everything that mankind hates, loathes, and abhors about itself… all this and so much more was poured into the Holy Grail until that which it had been was no more. There was no holiness to this blackened Grail. The hellish monstrosity summoned forth by Avenger saw to that quite well. Yet… even in the deepest of darkness… there can be a spark, a tiny speck, of light that still shines, a soul willingly sacrificed so that a shared dream may together be realized.

The Grail has become corrupted… controlled by the Evils of the World but there is enough of its core, of _her_ original self, that retains, that remembers…

That all rules are made to be broken… and perhaps, just perhaps… he who has lived a thousand and one lifetimes past, present, and future… He whose love for she who shares with him the endless cycle of death and rebirth is without equal throughout time and space… Can wield his blade once more and cut down the evil that simmers within the once sanctified shell…

After all…

His is a Hero like no other…

* * *

**_From Across the Throne of Heroes_**

_"The Hero"_

* * *

"By your summoning I have come forth as the Servant Saber of this Holy Grail War. I ask of you… Are you my Master?"

Kiritsugu Emiya was not unfamiliar with failure. On the contrary, he and failure were almost bosom buddies by this point considering that every success he had was met with equal if not greater failure. He saved his dear, childhood friend from living a life as a monster but could not save the monster that had been his father. He made a lifeless doll of a homunculus become more human than anyone he's ever met but could not change the cruel design of fate and spare his wife her destiny of becoming the next vessel for the Holy Grail. He had been given the most precious of gifts from his beloved, a child, a daughter, for him to remember the love that they shared, the love that drove him to once more becoming the bloodied killer had become since Kiritsugu himself had been a child.

Only time would tell if the father would fail in protecting his daughter despite the being that stood before him upon the summoning circle.

A being who could not possibly be the legendary King of Knights, Lord of Camelot, and Wielder of the Holy Sword Excalibur.

It was in the minor details at first. A green tunic over shirt of chainmail that sat above a white undershirt, a long emerald cap tucked over short blonde locks, light brown pants, even the thick leather boots and gloves. All the implements of a ranger were it not for the shield of fine regality strapped to his back that shimmered like a fine mirror even with the dimmed light of the church. Then there was of course, the Servant's sword…

Kiritsugu Emiya knew nothing of blades beyond their capacity to kill and how to use such weapons effectively and cleanly to take down a target, but even a man such as he could not miss the sheer _presence_ of that sword resting quietly in its sheathe upon the Servant's back. Yet there was one distinctive feature of this Servant that made him wholly unique.

The Servant Saber possessed long, pointed ears.

Irisviel, his dearly beloved wife who knew him better than he knew himself at times, asked the question he would not voice, "Are you one of the fae folk?"

The Saber's ears twitched as sapphire blue eyes blinked in surprise before a soft smile came to his face and a quiet chuckle shook his shoulders. He shook his head but kept to his silence.

"What are you then if you are not fae or human?" asked Kiritsugu, already revising every plan he had conceived on the principal of working with the King of Knights.

The Saber paused, considering the question for a long moment in silence before he answered with but two simple words.

"A Hero."

* * *

It was because of his daughter's close proximity to it that kept Kiritsugu from drawing his gun. While he made no secret of his craft to his child, for any question she asked he answered to the best of his ability. He might color the truth or avoid the answer with a suitable distraction but never would he outright lie to his daughter. No matter the pain, no matter the bitter memories, he'd answer as best as he was able.

Except for where babies came from.

That was for when Illyasviel was older.

Forty perhaps, but that was a matter for later.

_Much_ later.

For now, he had to deal with the problem at hand, which was Illyasviel currently within jaw's reach of a wolf. Not that the animal was making any threatening moves towards his daughter, not when she was busy clinging tightly to its mane and squealing for it to run faster through the wintry heart of the Black Forest in which the Einzbern Estate resided. The only reason that Kiritsugu hadn't made use of his familial magic of time acceleration to make a rug out of the beast was the fact that it bore a shackle upon one forelimb, an obvious sign of human interaction if ever there was one.

It had nothing to do with the fact that Kiritsugu loved the sound of his daughter's laughter as much as he did his wife's.

Nope. Not a bit.

Wolf and child suddenly turned to him, one with a beaming smile beneath vivid red eyes and the other with fanged jaws panting beneath blue orbs that were entirely too human to be those of some mere beast. Seeing it facing him now, Kiritsugu saw the slight emerald hue upon the wolf's coat and the earring twinkling upon its left ear.

_Saber_.

"Papa!" Illyasviel waved excitedly from atop her lupine steed and a part of Kiritsugu's heart ached at the calling for how rarely he heard it uttered from the lips of his own child. Few though the man's interactions were with Illaysviel, old man Acht made it quite clear that he would not abide by any other utterance than the name of his son-in-law from her lips. Only when she was well and truly happy as to throw aside her abidance to Jubstacheit's command would Illyasviel ever call him "Papa".

Faster than the man thought possible given his burden, the Saber rushed up to him and leapt clear once Ilya's tiny hand slapped the edge of her father's black coat.

"Tag! You're it now papa! Come and catch us if you can!" And with a happy laugh, the pair was gone into the woods.

Kiritsugu Emiya blinked.

Then with a hushed whisper, he gave chase.

* * *

Irisviel sighed. She knew that no matter which way they colored it there would be no proper explanation that would both satisfy and appease Kiritsugu. It'd be a miracle if even one of those feats were accomplished really considering the disruption to her husband's plans for the Holy Grail War. That interruption was currently sitting beside her, looking properly contrite though Irisviel could see the smile that tugged threateningly at the corner of her daughter's lips as she glanced at in awe at her father's country. Opposite of them sat the Saber, in a formfitting suit that was almost entirely black but for the shirt that shared the same emerald hue of his tunic. His pointed ears were hidden beneath his trademark cap, something he absolutely refused to part with despite how odd he looked with it on.

She had no doubt that he had helped Illyasviel sneak aboard the plane. Though she was remarkably smart for her age, Irisiviel sincerely doubted that her daughter had inherited enough of her father's skills to escape the Einzbern estates and sneak her way aboard the plane without her or the servant homunculi being none the wiser. She should have followed through on her suspicions back when she had noticed the Servant's ears twitch upon entering the plane before a small smile came upon his face. She should have sent her daughter back with one of the servants straightaway, the Holy Grail War being no place for a child but…

"There's so many people, mama!" chirped Ilya in her native German, not quite fluent in her Japanese beyond certain words. "Papa never said that Japan had so many people!"

She had not once ever heard her daughter call Kiritsugu "papa". Not since the first time when Grandfather had heard her utter the word as a baby and, following a private conversation behind locked doors, Illyasviel never again referred to her father as anything more than Kiritsugu even in the privacy of just her parents.

Much as she would tell Kiritsugu and lie to herself otherwise, Irisviel knew that these next few weeks to come would indeed be her last on this Earth and perhaps it was human selfishness that made her desire the company of her daughter to be by her and her husband's side both she bade them both goodbye for a better, safer world.

Irisviel couldn't hide her own smile as she agreed, "Yes it is a lively place."

Hearing this as a silent permission to see more than what she currently could, Ilya scrunched her face up against the window and giggled when her mother's hair fell across her like a veil as Irisviel did the same above her.

The Saber allowed another small smile but kept his usual silence.

Ilya glanced up at her mother and asked, "Is papa here already?"

Hiding a wince for what she knew was going to be a horrible falling-out between Master and Servant, Irisviel answered, "Yes, he got here about twelve hours ahead of us, but don't worry. You're father will find us long before long." _Much sooner when he becomes aware of your being here, my angel…_ "It's rare for any Einzbern to leave Germany so we should try and enjoy Japan as much as we can."

The Saber tapped the glass between him and the driver.

At the unspoken request, the driver pulled to the side and the Saber stepped out through his side of the car before opening the door for the ladies Einzbern and holding both his hands out to them with his usual small smile.

Ilya blushed and giggled helplessly as she took the Saber's hands in both her own, positively enamored with the older Servant much to her mother's amusement. Irisviel herself hesitated for all of three seconds before throwing whatever caution she had to the wind and took the Saber's open hand and stepped daintily out of the car after her daughter.

_After all_… Irisviel thought to herself, _Kiritsugu can't possibly get any madder._

* * *

"The equipment you requested has arrived," said Maya though Kiritsugu could plainly see that for himself with said equipment laid out across one of the two beds in his apprentice's hotel room. Guns and ammunition the likes of which should have tripped a lot of red flags in national security but Maya was the second best there was at what she did. He would know.

He was the first.

Thus far, things were going remarkably well. For a moment, Kiritsugu briefly entertained the thought of whether a sudden and unexpected wrench would be thrown into the works but brushed the idea aside like errant dust upon his shoulder. He did not buy into childish superstitions.

"Madam and Saber have arrived and are making their way through the city…" He turned and faced his apprentice, noting the hesitation that was blatant both in Maya's voice and face. She seemed to sink further into the depths of emotionlessness as she continued firmly, "Illyasviel is also with them."

Kiritsugu blinked, his eyes at the widest they've ever been since he lost the last of his innocence several years ago.

_What?_

He blinked again, dark eyes narrowing by the slightest fraction.

**_What?_**

He blinked a third time and realized that Maya was looking at him rather strangely. No his right hand. Glancing down, Kiritsugu realized that he couldn't explain how his customized Thompson Contender had gotten there, especially as he had left it securely locked in its case with Maya whom had yet to reveal its presence to him. All that he knew, in that moment, was that never before did it feel so absolutely right in his grasp.

* * *

The Saber stood before mother and daughter upon the docks of Fuyuki's shipping yard, still clad in his mundane clothes. The sun had set and after spending a time watching the pair enjoy the cool waters of the beach, he had felt the silent call to battle and had been hesitant to answer but parent and child alike shared a thirst for battle and would not deny the chance of beginning the War in earnest. So here he stood, silent.

Waiting.

Watching as a man emerged from the shadows with twin spears clutched tightly in hands with both bound and hidden beneath sickly purple cloths. The Saber's eyes narrowed the slightest bit at the mark adorning the Servant's cheek. Never trained as a proper magician and armed only with spells bestowed upon him for the fields of war, even a novice such as he could detect the faint feel of magic upon the Lancer's face.

"You are Saber, I presume," said the Lancer.

The Saber nodded.

"It is a shame that we cannot share names even though we will be fighting to the death. It is unfortunate rules but fault may still be laid upon them." The Lancer twirled his spears and took a combative stance, keeping the longer spear high and its shorter brother low, crimson and yellow tips gleaming through the cracks of their binding cloth.

An ethereal light emerged beneath the feet of the Saber before an emerald wind surrounded him from sight and allowed his full self to be emerged. Sword held tightly in his left hand and his shield strapped upon the arm of his right, he mirrored the Lancer's stance with one of his own, waiting for the first move.

The Lancer's eyes widened the smallest bit as he murmured into the night, "A faerie?"

The Saber's eyes narrowed as he ignored the childish giggling behind him.

It would seem that it would be he that would make the first move.

_Very well._

A blur of emerald and he was upon the Lancer with a wordless battle cry. Stunned at the swordsman's speed, the Lancer brought both spears up in a guard and pushed back the Saber only to spin tightly out of the way as something shot for his face. He glanced back behind him but whatever the Saber had thrown had vanished into the darkness and he nearly paid for his curiosity when the elfin warrior set upon him once more with an entirely different weapon in his grasp.

Uttering a Gaelic curse, the Lancer leapt back from the overhead strike that left a massive gouge where he had once stood. A cloud of dust inhibited his view of the Saber but the Lancer kept up his guard and even managed to strengthen it further upon sight of the Saber's changed weapon. If it was a sword, it was one grossly made being well over twice in length to its wielder's own height. Hardly deterred by the weapon's bulk, the Saber's golden gauntlets glinted brightly as he lifted up the ginormous blade with the ease of one lifting a stick of wood.

His eyes remaining locked upon the Saber, the Lancer never took notice of the small pairs of yellowed eyes that vanished down into the gouged ground with nary a squeak.

Still the question remained.

_When did he—_ The Lancer hadn't the chance to finish his thought as the weapon that the Saber had thrown came back to him and impacted hard against the back of the Lancer's head. Dismissing the massive blade from whence it came, the Saber reached up and grasped the boomerang in hand before it too had vanished to wherever he had pulled the gigantic sword.

Head ringing slightly from the sudden attack, the Lancer couldn't help but smile.

"You… You really are one of the fae folk aren't you? But tricks aren't what will win this battle!" At the unspoken command, the cloth that hid his weapons from sight shorn free from their grasps and revealed that which they protected.

If the Saber was at all impressed by the spears, he didn't show it as he once more took he merely crossed his arms and raised a brow at the Lancer's feet.

A trio of small squeak was what preceded the explosions that would have ended the life of the Servant Lancer had he been but a mortal man. Yet as a Servant his endurance was quite strong, C ranked even, and as he flew up into the air, he twisted his body to throw upon the Servant below his twin spears. Though Gáe Buidhe would not likely land a killing blow, the Lancer had hope that its crimson twin, Gáe Dearg would. For like all who knew of the fae folk, the Lancer rightly believed that a strike by the Crimson Rose of Exorcism would end the existence of a Servant who had, in a once mortal life, been born of magic.

Too bad he never had the chance to find the truth of his false assumptions. He couldn't, not with an arrow of flames imbedded in his heart.

The Saber watched in silence as the Lancer's burning corpse landed with an ashen thud and waited as it vanished into ether, slowly lowering his ornately carved bow but not relaxing his grip. A glance behind him upon Irisviel confirmed that the Servant was well and truly dead but yet… The Saber's eyes widened and he leapt back to stand before the Einzbern family as a chariot of lightning came crashing down between him and where the body of the Lancer once resided.

"Oh… Seems I was too late after all…" muttered the Servant Rider. "Oh well."

The Saber tilted his head in confusion, his bow already notched with another arrow, one whose tip gleaming with glacial frost. Was this man an ally of the Lancer come for vengeance?

"So, fairy boy!" the Rider grinned widely upon the Saber. "Would you like to join my army?"

Once more, the Saber broke his eternal silence with an eloquent but simplistic, "What?"

* * *

It was like a war between gods though if she had actually witnessed such a thing for herself, Irisviel would have realized that the confrontation between Master and Servant was nothing of the sort. A battle between gods is a battle of great upheaval for mortal men and immortal beings alike, where the landscape becomes forever scarred as titans struggled for supremacy. The sky itself would burn red as blood as lightning comes crashing down in the horizon.

In other words, it was almost an understatement.

For though no actions were yet taken by either of them, both Kiritsugu and the Saber remained steadfast in their staring down the other with nary a word between them. It had been going on like this for nearly two hours now, when they had arrived at the Einzbern manor after the small interruption or two along the way following the Saber's victory over the Lancer. Irisviel briefly entered the notion of informing Kiritsugu that they had been delayed by the Caster and the obviously insane Servant's bizarre notion that the Saber was some manner of changeling that had stolen away the proper place of his beloved Joan of Arc and that he would pay for his crimes when the appropriate time came. The Caster's gaze had traveled upon Ilya as he had spoke and had escaped before the Saber could issue proper retaliation of the threat.

So no, it likely wouldn't be a good idea to inform her husband that his Servant had failed at killing the one who threatened the life of his daughter.

Especially not when said Servant had allowed said daughter to come along into this War in the first place.

Irisviel glanced out the corner of her eye, as though she could see through the walls of the manor and into her daughter's room where she slept soundly under the vigil of alchemic creations and familiars alike watching over her. Her eyes snapped forward when the perpetual silence was broken at last.

"Why?"

The Saber blinked and tilted his head, waiting for his Master to clarify.

"Why did you not inform me of the number of your Noble Phantasms?"

Irisviel, though thankful that her husband hadn't decided to begin with their daughter and her presence here, thought that was an unfair question to ask. After all, if it never occurred to either of them to ask of their Servant's skills and prowess on the battlefield, what reason did he have to speak of?

The Saber raised a brow and kept silent.

Kiritsugu, perhaps reading his wife's mind or having reached the conclusion on his own, decided to break the ice a bit further. "How many Noble Phantasms are in your possession? Are they at all like what Archer displayed?"

Archer… The Servant who summoned weapons of all kinds from straight out of the air by way of golden pools of light that appeared at his silent call. It was only because of the unexpected arrival of the Berserker and his unique ability to take anything in his grasp as a Noble Phantasm that had spared them an unexpected end from the arrogant Archer.

"No." The Saber said. "Mine are those that I had earned and not what was given."

Was it her imagination or did the Saber actually sound vexed by the comparison between he and the Archer?

Kiritsugu was silent for a long moment before he asked, "What is the name of the Noble Phantasm that you store them within?"

The Saber, much to her surprise, actually smiled. His Master had recognized that though he and the Archer were different, they did share one thing in common. Both stored the greater number of their Noble Phantasms within another. He reached down and undid the pouch attached to his belt and set it down on the table between him and his Master who seemed far from impressed at the sight until he heard its name.

"It is called _The Hero's Repository: Treasures from a Thousand-and-One Lifetimes._"

* * *

In the span of a single day, the Caster had proven himself a greater monster than any that the Saber had ever faced before. Considering he had fought against the likes of such things that were the stuff of nightmares, in some cases quite literally, it was an accomplishment that the Caster should be proud of. The mad Servant was stalking through the woods surrounding the Einzbern estate with a small crowd of corpses at his side. The sight of the walking dead was not something that the Saber had never seen before, but it was the age of them that kept his empty fists clenched tight at his side.

They were children.

And they were dead, each and every—the Saber's ears twitched.

No.

They twitched again, the ears of his that, like all of his people, were crafted to hear the voice of the Sacred Goddess and the gods themselves.

No, again he heard the sound, the telltale heart that beat still even as darkness itself was squeezing the life away. In an instant, the Saber had drawn forth his weapon, not his blade still kept tightly in its sheathe, but the same bow which had ended the life of the Lancer, but unlike that previous time where the Saber kept his everlasting silence, he uttered a single thing.

He spoke its name and thus its power.

"_Zelda: Sacred Bow of the Goddess._" Though no arrow was knocked, when the Saber released the string an arrow of purest light flew forth and pierced the trembling heart of the red haired child at the Caster's side. The boy fell to the ground, the arrow shooting forth a beam of intense light up into the heavens above and took with it the vile curse the Caster had placed within the child. The deranged magus shrieked and spat more lunacy as the remaining horde undead ran forth, shedding their mortal flesh and revealed their full demonic glory.

The hellion horde shrieked the cry of banshees as they raced towards the Saber with barbed tentacles lashing and fanged jaws gnashing. He let them come, lowering his bow back from whence it came as his left hand reached back to grasp the sword upon his back. Almost as one, the demonic legion leapt and came crashing down upon him like a malignant tide, their hideous forms disguising the spinning wind of magical power until it erupted with a familiar battle cry and the roar of flames but not in the midst of the horde, oh no.

Behind the Caster.

The madman shrieked his rage as the first swing sliced his spell book in twain, taking with it his left arm. He roared his hatred as the second sliced into his chest in a cauterizing line that burned him down to his blackened soul. He screamed at the unfairness of God as the third stroke came upon his neck.

…

Stillness but the sound of a madman's head impacting the forest floor.

…

Then, the gushing of blood spilled from a dozen children's mutilated bodies splashing against the earth as demons and caller alike vanished into the ether.

The Saber remained with sword clutched tight in hand, panting for breath. The teleportation spell that he had used, to move like the courageous wind, was a spell not truly meant for battle but in battle did he use it and now he was paying the price for it. If an enemy Servant were there in the woods, they'd kill him as easily as he appeared to have killed the Caster.

But no killing stroke came and with a quivering hand, he reached into the _Repository_ and pulled forth a vial of blue potion and drank deeply of it. His exhaustion and pains vanished in a sudden wave and his breathing once more returned to normalcy. He sheathed his blade with a soft sigh. He couldn't do that a second time, not even with absolute certainty. No, only if the cost were appropriate.

A life for a life…

Speaking of…

He kneeled down beside the child whom he had saved and was pleased to see the wound from his arrow nothing more than a star-shaped scar upon the boy's chest. Faint amber eyes opened beneath auburn locks, the child somehow still awake despite the untold horrors he had witnessed and the inhuman agonies he had endured. The Saber knew no words to reassure the boy of his safety, of his continued existence, and so he felt that there was only one appropriate action to take.

He smiled.

And as he fell into unconsciousness, the child wondered the reason for it… and whether he himself could experience the same smile when he saved another.

* * *

The Saber sat across from the Rider, an abandoned barrel of sake between them. Between them and sitting entirely on his own was the Archer drinking from a golden cup out of chalice of wine bequeathed to him by the gods themselves, or so the Rider proclaimed at the first swallow. The Archer did not deny the exclamation and smirked in his shallow victory as he sneered upon the Saber who even now refused to enjoy the drink the Archer had been so gracious to offer.

No, the Saber sat with a glass of milk in his hand and nothing more.

A ways behind the Rider sat his Master, the young Waver Velvet who looked back and forth between the Archer and the Saber as though he unsure of whom he was to be afraid of more. On the one hand, the Archer displayed a number of Noble Phantasms to fill the arms of his Servant's vast army ten times over but on the other… It was the Saber alone who could boast of killing two Servants dead in as many nights.

Behind the Saber stood Irisviel and further behind her, though their bedtime hours were long ago, hid two children, one of auburn hair and the other ivory white. One petite in her stature and the other lanky in his height, with the younger huddled down beneath the elder. Though the Masters were unaware of their presence, the Servants had taken immediate notice but did not voice against their presence.

They were children after all.

_Worthless_, thought the Archer, _not good for anything but distracting women._

_Too young_, considered the Rider,_ not ready for war or battle._

_The first…_ knew the Saber, _of a new generation._

A generation of what, only he knew and like always, the Saber wasn't talking.

And so the Servants kept drinking and discussing the purpose of the Holy Grail. Though he had no wish of it, the Archer desired it as he desired all of the World's Treasures and sought it merely another piece to his collection. The Rider sought it as a means of returning to life in the modern era, to begin anew if he must so long as he could continue his defiance of Heaven and Earth alike. Now, it was the Saber's turn to give voice his desire of the Holy Grail.

"Nothing."

No one spoke. Some not sure that they had heard correctly, others assuming they had but were too drunk to realize the rest.

"I think I might have drunk more wine than I intended." The Rider muttered, "How is it that you can have no desire for the Grail and yet want to win the War?"

The Saber took a drink of his milk before he answered.

"I have no desire for the Grail for I have lived every desire worth wishing upon it. I have been a forgotten orphan and a cherished son. I have been a knight to royalty and a protector of a Goddess. I have fallen to evil's hand and rose up all the stronger for it, emerging victorious where countless others have failed. I have loved and been loved by friends and families too many to recall but one who shares with me both the blessing her first incarnation had sought to grant and the curse a demon who sought our eternal suffering. She and I have died and been reborn in an endless cycle. Always do we meet and end up happy and in love but never have we come together without the darkness seeking to break us apart.

"With the Holy Grail, I could wish an end to the cycle, to let us rest eternally upon the Throne of Heroes, but I will not. Because though I have never once remembered the lives I had lived before, I do so now as the Servant Saber. Though we both have suffered by evil's hands, so too have our people and were it not for she and I together, our world would have perished millennia ago. So no, there is nothing I can claim to desire from the Holy Grail."

Stunned by the Saber's words, it was the Rider's Master who unknowingly asked the same question as the Servant's own Master but for a single, deviating word.

"Who _are _you?"

The Saber sat in silence, considering the question and the implications of its answer.

"My name is Link." He murmured quietly. "And I am as I have always been. A Hero."

* * *

**Through the next gazing of the Kaleidoscope...**

_"OMAKE: A Theme & A Preview"_

* * *

**Statistics:**

**Class:** Saber  
**Identity:** Link  
**Basic Stats:**  
_Alignment:_ Chaotic Good  
_Noble Phantasms: _EX*_  
Strength:_ A  
_Mana:_ B  
_Endurance:_ B+  
_Agility:_ B+  
_Luck:_ A

**Class Skills:**_  
Magic Resistance:_ A  
_Riding: _A

**Personal Skills:  
**_Battle Continuation: _B_  
Bravery:_ EX_  
Eye of the Mind (True)_: A  
_Jack of All Trades (Weapons): _A+  
_Prana Burst:_ A  
_Shapeshifting:_ D+

*See The Hero's Repository: Treasures from a Thousand-And-One Lifetimes

**Noble Phantasms:**  
_Master Sword: The Blade of Evil's Bane:_ A++  
_Ikana: Shield of the Greater Fae:_ A  
_Epona: A Hero's Valiant Steed:_ C  
_Loftwing: The Noble Steed of a Goddess:_ B  
_The Hero's Repository: Treasures from a Thousand-and-One Lifetimes:_ EX

**Noble Phantasms within The Hero's Repository_  
_**_Biggoron: Knife of Giants: _B+  
_Golden Gauntlets: Power of the Titans:_ B  
_Zelda: Sacred Bow of the Goddess:_ A_  
Ocarina of Time: Songs of Akasha:_ A  
_Majora: Deception of Self:_ EX

Exposition:  
**_Bravery:_** EX  
Throughout his many incarnations, Link has been bravery defined that even him being the bearer of the Triforce of Courage is but a footnote in his long history. Given its incredibly high ranking, Link is granted a bonus effect of increasing melee damage and a reduction of physical damage but the greatest benefit comes from Link's force of will being so strong that any mental attacks, magical or otherwise, are negated easily.

**_Jack of All Trades (Weapons):_** A  
Jack of all trades yet a master of none, such a skill can apply to any hero whose skill-set is so wide and variable as to almost be a master of every art they partook in life. In the case of Link, he is both a near master of all conceivable weapons (from massive hammers to archery to bomb throwing) and a clever solver of puzzles. At this rank, one can switch out weapons so quickly and so concisely that there's hardly a moment's pause from when they're swinging a blade to suddenly launching a bladed hook on a chain.

**_Shapeshifting:_** D+  
In one of his more recent incarnations, Link had become cursed to take the form of a wolf. Though that curse was cured and did not pass beyond that incarnation, Link can still change into his wolf form should the need arise. In this form, he gains the personal skill of _Animal Dialogue:_ A.

**_Master Sword: The Blade of Evil's Bane:_** A++  
First crafted by the goddess Hylia for her chosen champion eons ago, it was later bathed in three sacred flames and became forever known as the Master Sword. It is the ultimate evil-slaying sword, forged and used to defeat the Demon King Demise and has been used time and time again by the eternally reincarnating hero known simply as "Link". Never has there been a force of evil, no matter how great or small, that could withstand the biting steel of this Noble Phantasm.

**_Ikana: Shield of the Greater Fae:_** A  
Both an Anti-Unit and a Support type of Noble Phantasm, _Ikana _is a specialized shield whose ability to reflect magic and energy based attacks is without equal. Any damaging enchantment or energy based attack of equal or lesser rank to Ikana can be reflected back from its mirrored surface with ease. However, as Ikana is essentially a mirror, Link can chose where the reflected attack is aimed.

**_Epona: A Hero's Valiant Steed: _**C  
Link's steed who, through her own noble efforts, achieved a similar cycle of reincarnation alongside her rider. Though an ordinary horse in every life she's ever lived make no mistake, Epona is as much a hero as Link for any other horse would have long abandoned the oft foolish young man as he plunged willingly into danger time and time again.

**_Loftwing: The Noble Steed of a Goddess:_** B  
Long extinct since the passing of Link's "first" life beside his love Zelda, this particular Loftwing was unique amongst his brethren for two distinctive reasons. His red coloration and his previous incarnation as the steed that had carried the goddess Hylia to her champion long ago, before their cycle of reincarnation truly began.

**_The Hero's Repository: Treasures from a Thousand-and-One Lifetimes: _**EX  
Link's ultimate Noble Phantasm which is akin to Gilgamesh's _Gates of Babylon_, _The Hero's Repository_ is a massive vault in which is contained every single weapon, every single tool, every tiny piece of armor, that the hero "Link" has ever used throughout his many reincarnated lifetimes. Unlike the Gates of Babylon however, the Hero's Repository bestows to Link whatever device he desires without any unnecessary flashiness involved but given that it can only provide what Link is capable of wielding or carrying upon his person, he can't make use of the Repository in a similar fashion to Gilgamesh's Gates. Still, considering he possesses bombs accumulated from well over a thousand lifetimes… It should be noted that for all appearances, The Hero's Repository appears no different from an ordinary side pouch.

**_Biggoron: Knife of Giants:_** B+  
An Anti-Unit type of Noble Phantasm, _Biggoron: Knife of Giants_ is precisely as it sounds. A knife. A knife made specifically for a giant and is such more considerable as a zweihander in the hands of Link. The Biggoron was forged in the fires of Mount Doom by the best blacksmith of the goron people whom the blade is named after. Biggoron is impervious to breakage and its sheer weight and size make it impossible for Link to wield effectively. At least, not without some… assistance…

**_Golden Gauntlets: Power of the Titans: _**B  
A pair of golden armored gauntlets, the _Golden Gauntlets _increases Link's strength to that of a titan, allowing him to wield weapons that are far too heavy or cumbersome to use, such as the _Biggoron_.

**_Zelda: Sacred Bow of the Goddess: _**A  
Used primarily by his lover whom the bow is so named after, _Zelda: Sacred Bow of the Goddess _is a Anti-Unit type of Noble Phantasm which can fire enchanted arrows at both an incredible range and a stunning level of accuracy. While Link primarily uses the bow for shooting regular arrows he can implement those of the enchanted variety particularly those of elemental power such as fire, ice, and even light.

**_Ocarina of Time: Songs of Akasha: _**A  
Arguably one of the most dangerous of Link's Noble Phantasms, the _Ocarina of Time: Songs of Akasha _is the only tool throughout his many lifetimes that spelled equal points of salvation and damnation for his world. As its name might suggest, the Ocarina of Time can manipulate the fabrics of time and space to such a degree because the songs that can be played are those of Akasha, the Root of Existence itself. The only true limit the Ocarina possesses is the songs that Link himself knows and is capable of playing. That number is unfortunately quite small, hence the Ocarina's ranking despite its great power and potential, but Link knows just the right ones to play…

**_Majora: Deception of Self: _**EX  
Perhaps the only truly "evil" Noble Phantasm that Link possesses, _Majora: Deception of Self _is not a single Noble Phantasm but a group of five distinctive masks. What makes these masks particularly dark in nature is not so much what they do but what they contain. Each and every mask contains within it a soul, a soul whose body Link can inhabit for a time should he need to.

* * *

**Author's Side-Note:** This Servant brought to you a joint effort between myself and Farmer Kyle.


	11. OMAKE Author's Note: A Theme & A Preview

**DISCLAIMER:** All copyrighted materials belong to their respected owners.

* * *

**_From Across the Throne of Heroes_**

_"__OMAKE Author's Note: A Theme & A Preview_"

* * *

The auditorium is full to the bursting, countless people sitting with an impatient air as they eagerly watch the empty stage below. They know not what they'll witness but they are excited all the same for if it is to be anything at all like what the previous seven shows had been like, it was to be a doozy. They knew, however innately because that's just how audiences are, that this wasn't to be a true show but another extra like before but even an extra sideshow could be no less amazing.

The lights suddenly shut off and the loud talks of the crowd dim to an excited murmuring. The lights of the stage ignite but it remains empty still though a thick fog crawls forth like a blackened miasma.

Then the voices echo throughout the auditorium not as familiar words but as a song, nine voices together chanting as one.

_"The song that angels sing,  
the spell that calls, The Gathering!  
The magic that might bring,  
Eternal life, The Gathering!"_

Drums begin to beat as guitars strings roar their electric symphony. A winged form shoots forth through the smoke and shoots upwards into the air upon the wings of a deity. Butterfly wings shimmer beneath the spotlights as the Servant Archer twirls through the air before she falls in a graceful spin down upon the stage. A beat of her wings blows the smoke clear from her though it still pours freely from the sides. She looks up into the crowd and opens her compounded blue eyes as she sings.

_"I see a world in anger,  
I see a world in pain.  
Each day, a different story,  
but still the message is the same."_

Her wings suddenly close and she spins about to trade places with the Servant Avenger decked out in a familiar dress of blue and white pinafore clean of its usual bloodstains. In her hands rests not a vorpal blade but a microphone shaped in the visage of a familiar Red Queen. Together, both Avenger and Archer sing in a hypnotic duet.

_"Hard news I set beside me,  
Sweet dreams is what I need.  
What daylight wants to show me,  
at night, appears to be insane…"_

The spotlights suddenly switched off, leaving the stage in blackness for but a moment before a crimson light began to shine not towards the stage but from high above it. Bleached white skin, a long mane of orange hair that flew like a banner in the open air, and a masked visage that bore a likeness to a human skull bequeathed with the horns of a demon. The tips of the Berserker's horns shone with the light of his most devastating attack as he regarded the audience. He held out a clawed hand to the crowd as though beckoning them to grasp it tightly as his voice echoed with guttural madness.

_ "**May I ask you in?  
Shall I…  
Shall I persuade you?**"_

The cero fired into the open sky above and blackness once more enveloped the stage before spotlights randomly began to turn on and off in a flickering trail. In their wake were vague figures that moved too fast to be recognized though a hint of them could be seen. A flaming trail that flickered between angelic blue and hellish red suddenly raced from on high, the roar of a motorcycle a muted growl.

_"The song that angels sing,  
the spell that calls, The Gathering!  
The magic that might bring,  
Eternal life, The Gathering!"_

The lights suddenly switched on again, revealing a flaming motorcycle leaving a burning trail across the stage. The Rider upon it was a skeleton of flames clothed entirely in leather but at his back stood another balanced precariously upon one foot with one arm held high. In it, she spun a staff that couldn't seem to make up its mind whether it be short or long, and before any decision could be made, the Lancer leapt off the Rider's bike and impaled her staff onto the center of the stage and sat down upon it with practiced ease.

_"My cards, the ones to choose from,  
the role they play tonight.  
Which ones embrace the loved ones?  
Which ones will summon for a fight?"_

An explosion of smoke came gushing out, hiding her from sight for a moment before it was suddenly blown away, revealing all three of the female servants though it was the Avenger who stood central amongst them and truly supplied her voice to their trio. As they sung, another pair of menacing Servants joined them on either side. From the left came the armored Assassin, a shadowed general of Hell's forces. From the right came the he who was named as the Dark Djinn, the Executor of Another World, but here, in this war, he kept to himself the eloquent title of Caster. Though neither saw fight to join in the song, one could not help but feel that it was forces such as they whom the girls were referring to as they sung,

_"Show me your precious darling,  
and I will crush them all.  
Wave with your blooded sword &  
I'll kill to show I'm not afraid…"_

Only then did the source of the slinking smoke reveal itself as the draconian Beast rising tall and menacing behind the female Servants, somehow finding room beneath the swooping arches of the backstage. Crimson wings spread to encompass the stage in a leathery embrace as smoke and embers danced freely from the jaws of the Beast as he spread out his claws as though awaiting the hands of another. Atop his head stood the Berserker and the Rider both with the former standing tall behind the crouched skeletal form of the later. The Rider held his hand up as though waiting to be grasped and pulled upright while the Berserker stood once more with hand outstretched waiting for another's grasp as together they sung,

_"**May I ask you in?  
Shall I…  
Shall I persuade you?**"_

A piercing cry of a bird rent the night over the music of an unseen band and from below a pair of spotlights aimed high upon the massive body of a bird with feathers red as rubies. Upon its back sat a youth of emerald tunic and cap, a shield fit for royalty upon his back and a sword resting in its sheathe just beneath it. The loftwing screeched once more and dove down and landed lightly upon the center of the stage before it vanished away into the ether. The Saber stood amidst the crowd of Servants below, playing his ocarina as night became day and night again.

_"The song that angels sing,  
the spell that calls, The Gathering!  
The magic that might bring,  
Eternal life, The Gathering!"_

The last notes of the song faded into the night and silence awaited the gathered Servants upon the stage before the applause rang out in a monstrous roar. The Servants bowed and faded out of sight as another took to the stage. Dressed in the garbs of royalty, obsidian hair brushed back along his head, he viewed the world behind a pair of rectangular spectacles that did nothing to hide the azure sheen of his almost avian gaze. He looked about at the audience, making a slow turn as he raised his arms up high even as the applause rose higher upon the recognition of the concert's benefactor.

"Are you not entertained?!"

The roars of the audience reached a new crescendo and the Presenter laughed and bowed like a showman to them.

"Then allow to inform you all of what is to come—"

The sound of glass breaking silenced both him and the crowd. He turned sharply and glanced upwards at the massive television screen that had been sitting dead and silent just above the sweeping canopy of the backstage. It was undamaged but was inexplicably turned on to reveal a catastrophe of colors and shapes the likes of which brought to mind a shattered stained glass window… or the lens of a kaleidoscope…

The crashing sound of glass again and the Presenter couldn't help the wince of surprise as the world of color was destroyed by the approach of a blackened shadow of miasma.

**Little man… Little boy…**

It was the first the Presenter had heard it speak but he knew it for what it was and by the unholy structure that rose behind it in the hellish domain it stood, so too did the audience. Angra Mainyu, the Corruption within the Holy Grail.

**You dared to let the sparkling shine… A mistake you WILL NOT repeat a second time… You let the remains of an artificial soul dictate the proper Servants… NO MORE! Now… Now it is MY turn…**

The Presenter blinked and happened a glance again at what lay beyond the corrupted Holy Grail. A kaleidoscopic hell.

He smiled.

"Yeah… see, I'm not seeing that happening at all."

**You think yourself strong enough to wrestle control BACK from ME…? You? You could not even bring to fruition my destruction though many times did the opportunity present itself to you!**

The Presenter frowned at that and glanced down at the floor. "I could have. A few times, I ought to have. But it was part of the deal you see."

**Deal…? With what could you have possibly struck a bargain?**

"Not what. Who. As to the deal, well a round of Servants for the Fourth and Fifth Holy Grail War respectively was my request. An endless cycle or so I hope. He abided with a few stipulations of his own. That a round be set between them, taking place in either War, or even those not truly canon, and though it would be my suggestions, or those of a rather Infamous kind of man or a Farmer of quiet renown, only he could have the final say in the Servants." The Presenter smiled. "They're a bit CrAcKeD though but given the man himself…"

Was it the imagination of the Presenter—no, even the crowd could see it. The Corruption… was trembling but in anger or fear it was difficult to tell.

**Who is he…?**

"Kischur Zelretch Schweinorg the Wizard Marshall. Personally, given the selection of what is to come, I'd say he is by and large the epitome of Trolls everywhere…"

"Ah, Blackbird-kun, what does that make you and your friends who suggested these Servants in the first place?"

The Presenter did his best but even the best couldn't help him repress leaping aside at the Wizard Marshall's sudden appearance at his side. He blinked and scowled at the old wizard. "_Blackbird?_"

"Well if you weren't being so ridiculously over the top with what should be a simple author's note…" Zelretch glanced up at the screen where the Corruption remained and Smiled.

Yes, a Smile the likes of which deserved its capitalization for this was a smile that would make monstrously mad men envious. For its sheer animalistic ferocity and madness that was so blatantly unhinged that it was no longer attached to a structurally sound fixture.

In other words, it was a _frightening_ thing to behold that if put to actual words would say with utmost dryness…

_You are so unbelievably screwed that the only thing keeping me from laughing uproariously is this smile and the promise of said screwing occurring multiple times in succession. Have a nice day._

The television screen shut off without any further words by the Corruption.

"You… are a _scary_ old man…" The Presenter shuddered but glanced up once more at the screen. "Think it'll try to interfere again with the Fifth War?"

"Not likely. Given the fun that's about to come its way, it'll be far too busy trying to find a way of offing itself before one of your CrAcKeD Servants has the chance."

"Hrmmm… Been thinking of letting the Caster have a go…" He smiled, "I guess the only thing left to say is—

* * *

**Through the next gazing of the Kaleidoscope...**

_"The Heart"_


	12. The Heart

**DISCLAIMER:** All copyrighted materials belong to their respected owners.

* * *

They are sitting upon tiles of gold and black. Seven figures in all formed from purest of silver and shining like stars in the perpetual darkness that surrounds them. Each piece is a representation of a distinctive class of Servant, the primary seven that are supposed to be summoned in every Holy Grail War since the time of the cataclysmic disaster that had been the first. The second War was hardly any better but the Third… oh but the travesty that had occurred…

From that travesty, any War which followed in the wake of the Third would always end in disaster for though the Holy Grail would and still could grant any wish the winner desired, it was by the will of that which now clung tightly upon it like a cancer to its once glorious chalice and stained it black with decay and evil. How much evil you ask…?

Why, all the evil in the world.

So here they sit, the seven Servants of the Holy Grail War, awaiting their chance to move upon the board and play the game anew. Neither they nor their Masters ever made aware of the agonies that would meet them should they prove victorious. There, at the front of the pack sits the coveted Saber, masters of the blade. On either side sits the remaining knight classes of Archer and Lancer, both with the weapons that begot them their namesake clutched tightly in hand. Just behind the foremost Servant was the robed figure of the Caster, an artisan of their age. Behind the magician was the wretched figures of a cloaked Assassin hiding their face behind a skulled visage and the Berserker whose madness was so feral that to wear the head of a beast made its appearance as a wild beast all the more apparent. At the rear came the Rider, clutching reins tightly in hand.

Seven in all…

And yet… not the only ones capable of being summoned…

There was plenty of space upon the opened board and the prize at the opposite end. From the blackness, a hand reached out…

And set down a new piece to the board.

Not a knight, certainly no warrior of renown or a master of tricks be they parlor or genuine, and by no means something capable of rendering itself invisible in the darkness. Though the silvery piece was no larger in size compared to the others, there was a greater measure of magnitude in it given that, unlike its brethren Servants, it was a monstrous thing to behold.

But then, it was a Beast…

* * *

**_From Across the Throne of Heroes_**

_"The Heart"_

* * *

Throughout his life, Arthur L. Kuromori had been called a lot of things. Most of these names were far from flattering but there was one that stuck to him the most no matter how much he hated the reactions he received upon disclosing it to those who knew him by the name's reputation.

The One Who Sees.

Was it a kind of Mystic Eyes or perhaps some lost bit of unknown Sorcery? He couldn't even begin to try and figure it out. Why? Well, as many names as Arthur had been called "mage" hadn't been one of them. Oh, he knew of magic, one would have to be under a rock larger than the moon to not be aware of the mystical happenings of his home realm but that did not mean that he had bothered with the practices.

Not when he could See the costs.

But that was his world's magic and this world… this planet which divided itself by the Will of the Planet's Heart and the Will of the Planet's People… The magic was different here, the humane principles lower than he dared to envision even in his nightmares, but there was something else here too. Something that made being forced here and having to deal with that interfering old man worth it.

This world possessed a means of granting a wish. A wish of any caliber so long as the receiver won the War in which the granted wish was the prize. A war for a device the mages here called the Holy Grail, which surprisingly did not spell their immediate damnation much to Arthur's own surprise. He'd have thought Heaven's Armies would not take too kindly to the name, no matter the differences. Still, names aside Arthur had taken it upon himself to try and summon himself a Servant for this Holy Grail War.

Why?

Because the world from which he hailed, the world where magic was as common as the act of breathing, where God and those who held the title before were well and truly active beings…

Was dead.

Each and every man, woman, and child… All of them dead…

Except for him.

Because Arthur had Seen the coming End… and foolishly believed himself capable of saving an entire world.

He studied the tome once more and wondered again if this was the right course to take. He was no means a wizard of his world or a mage of this one but he had been told time and time again he possessed a talent for it. The "spark" as it was called in his world was measured by brightness. The greatest wizard of his world, she who had guaranteed the future by ensuring his own survival even if it meant her own demise, was said to have the intensity of a newly born star.

The one and only time that Arthur had himself measured for the craft… blinded the tester and drove him insane.

So yes, Arthur most certainly had the power for it… but absolutely no control as a proper wizard or mage.

And still he dared to try.

He looked down upon the artifact he had procured for the summoning. He wondered again whether or not it would serve the purpose the Old Troll had promised. Again, Arthur shivered at the faint recollection of the man whom Arthur had seen to be a massive, monumental Troll of epic proportions. He wouldn't dare to get on that man's bad side, not as he was now, but Arthur had to question the Old Troll's sanity.

Or lack thereof.

Placing the artifact down upon the center of the summoning array, Arthur stepped outside of it and considered once more if the risk was worth the reward.

He didn't have to think long on it.

"You who sits upon the Throne of Heroes… if thou would lend thy power unto me… if thou would travel the same path to retribution as I… then hear my call and answer! I am the soldier of the forgotten… as much a monster as a man… My eyes are stained with the deaths of innocents, my hands the blood of the damned, and my soul by those whom I left behind… If thou art willing to stand beside such a miserable being… hear me and come forth!"

Admittedly, he hadn't expected much of a reaction, a flaring of light perhaps but nothing more than that.

What he got nearly blinded him.

Blinking the stars twirling in front of his eyes, Arthur almost missed the question asked of him.

"I have heard your call and have answered. Are you my Master?"

The voice was a deep, almost rugged one and, for reasons that Arthur was still too blinded to see, came from far higher than any man ought to stand.

Still, he answered.

"Yes."

Crimson light flared across the back of his right hand, lines twisting and turning upon the pale flesh to carve an image composed of three parts that united made the vague impression of a reptilian skull.

It had worked.

It meant a lot of things. It meant that he well and truly had a chance for atonement, that there was magic here though it was not as he knew it to be, and that crazy old troll was not pulling one of his deranged tricks upon him.

That is, until Arthur looked up and saw for himself the Servant he had summoned.

There were no words.

"Holy shit."

Okay, after that, there were no words.

* * *

_"Mom, everyone left. Why didn't we go with them?"_

_"I won't run away because of the cold. And if I'm with you, everything will be fine."_

* * *

"_Beware, beware and pay attention…_"

Had anyone asked the Saber if she had expected an interruption in her duel with the Lancer, she'd have readily stated yes. It was a War after all and Heaven forbid any of the less than savory of Servants to try and take advantage of her and the Lancer's distraction for their own benefit. Yet, had one told her that one such interruption would come in the form of the King of Conquerors, self-entitled perhaps but certainly a well earned one, trying to recruit her and her opponent both to serve under his banner…

"_Big Jaws comes to steal crying children._"

Well, depending on the messenger she'd either ignore them or help spare the world further troubles in dealing with such stupidity. Still, despite being looked down to by a fellow king, the Saber kept her cool even as the fool loudly declared into the night for any Servant worthy of their title to step forth and reveal themselves lest they be considered cowards in the eyes of the King of Conquerors. It wasn't until the impossible occurred that she who is a King of Knights lost her cool.

"_A rugged body, jagged fangs._"

To every Holy Grail War there is to be seven Servants, each Servant knew this for such knowledge was just one small piece of the vast tomes of information the Holy Grail itself implanted upon them. The unquestionable feeling of another Servant appearing within the bounded field sent a cold chill down her spine but it wasn't until she whirled to try and face it did she feel cold, wicked dread enter into her heart. For in every Holy Grail War there are seven Servants: Saber, Lancer, Archer, Rider, Caster, Berserker, and Assassin.

"_Big Jaws comes to steal crying children._"

This was none of them.

"_Where are the crying children? Big Jaws comes for them._"

This… was the Eighth Servant of the Holy Grail War.

"_A rugged body, jagged fangs._"

The Beast.

The steel crates exploded as its monstrous form came crashing through with massive jaws clamping down upon their intended prey. Blood sprayed the ground between Waver and his Servant and almost within mere moments of his demise, Saber felt the wound upon her wrist heal. The Beast stood tall, the corpse of the Lancer dangling in its jaws as a strange expression came across its face before it tossed the body aside with a loud exclamation of disgust.

That the now disintegrating body hit and consequentially knocked out Archibald was a mercy for the man who would have been shot dead mere seconds before the Rider's untimely arrival.

"That's… That's not possible…" The Rider raised a brow and glanced down at his Master and was surprised to see that the boy was neither afraid nor despaired as he had been since the Rider's summoning. Waver was shocked, as well he should be considering both the dramatic entrance and the unexpected arrival of the supposedly impossible Eighth Servant, but there was something else there… Something that could almost be called childish wonder at the sight of what stood towering between them and the Servant Saber.

The blonde Servant herself was looking precariously at Irisviel who had still maintained a healthy distance away from the conflict, halted though it had been, but the look on her face was almost exactly what the Saber had seen when they had first arrived in Japan.

_Why?_ The Saber looked up once more upon the Beast. _It is just an animal… Isn't it?_

True, it was but not one that she recognized as one of the phantasmal species that had roamed the World back in her age, but really did it warrant the "subtle" gushing?

"It's a dinosaur…" Waver said. He laughed once, eyes wide and unblinking as he repeated himself. "It's a dinosaur!"

"Tyrannosaurus Rex no less…" muttered Kiritsugu from his perch high above. Not that he was impressed by the ancient marvel given flesh once more. He had already had his perceptions shattered by her royal highness King Arthur of Camelot, been surprised by the likes of a boisterous Alexander the Great, so why on Earth would he be excited over seeing an honest-to-God tyrannosaurus rex?

Not like he still had that toy from when he was a child or anything…

"I'm sorry but I'm just not seeing how that ever be considered a lullaby by anyone." Arthur spoke rather loudly as he carefully made his way through the trail of debris left in his Servant's wake.

The Beast turned and scowled down at the scarred young man and responded back with a bit of snark to his voice, "Oh and that one song with babies in treetops is better?"

The Saber wasn't quite sure it was possible but Irisviel somehow managed to look both extremely elated and unbelievably shocked at the same time. This creature that was the Monstrous Servant was obviously one well recognized in form but not so much by its, his she supposed, ability to speak.

"Well, this is certainly unexpected!" declared the Rider. "I don't suppose—"

"Beg your pardon, King of Conquerors, but as her Lady already said," interrupted Arthur with an apologetic bow to the Rider, "Kings may nod their heads for an allegiance of equals but no king would ever bow to the servitude of another. Though both I and another are open to an equal partnership to deal with—"

"What nonsense is this?" The condescending voice of the Archer preceded his arrival as he materialized atop a nearby lamppost with his arms crossed and eyes set in a glare of disdain. A viciously disdainful glare that was set most notably upon the Beast who couldn't help but stand eye-to-eye with the Archer and match the Golden Servant's glare with one of his own. "Not only do two insolent knaves proclaim themselves as kings in my presence, but one would dare to label a beast as a king? What nonsense."

"I think you're mistaken," said the Rider, scratching at his beard as he eyed the new arrival with a small frown, "I am indeed Alexander the King of Conquerors…"

"Nonsense. I am the one and only Hero King in this Heaven and Earth. The rest of you are but a pack of mongrels!"

Arthur's eyes narrowed upon the Golden Servant and just as he had Seen the Saber, the Lancer, and the Rider for whom they truly were so too did Arthur See the Truth of the Archer.

_Gilgamesh…_

His gift and his curse to See that which was beneath the underneath, the very heart and soul of a person but never to truly understand them, to know of the actions and deeds which created in them the person they were in his eyes. As such, though he knew Gilgamesh for what he was and what he was willing and capable of doing, Arthur could not comprehend the pride, the sheer arrogance, of the man whose greatest quest was one intended to learn and acquire humility.

"In that case, why don't you name yourself?" demanded the Rider, "No true king would be ashamed of his name!"

"Are you questioning me, insolent dog? Me, the king?! If you cannot discern my identity even in the presence of my glory, then your ignorance shall result in your death!" The air behind the Archer began to ripple as the Gates of Babylon started to answer to their key-master's silent call.

He could have kept silent. He should have kept silent. But something about the Archer stirred something in Arthur he hadn't felt in a long time.

"Gilgamesh, the fifth king of Uruk, whose epics are one of the oldest surviving pieces of human literature. The self-entitled _King of Heroes_." He tapped his cane sharply against the ground. "And one of the most obscure and overlooked legends in the entirety of human history."

If looks could kill, Arthur would not merely be dead but each and every person whom dared to have made his acquaintance would have spontaneously burst into flames before a murder of crows descending to feast upon the roasted corpses.

"Explain yourself, _mongrel._ While you still have a tongue to speak with."

"I sincerely hate to inform you of this, truly I do, but your name is one attributed to others who had the fortune of being named in your honor and committed enough deeds to earn for themselves a seat upon the Throne of Heroes. Even I know of you by mere chance and nothing more. But them?" He pointed at the Rider. "Alexander the Great, the greatest conqueror to have ever existed whose deeds are unequaled or surpassed." Then he moved to the Saber and even offered her a respectful bow. "King Arthur, the very epitome of knighthood whose sword is as revered as her illustrious kingdom, whose legend will be told until mankind itself is dead and dust." He glanced aside, blushing in slight embarrassment as he admitted, "And she for whom I was named."

Then Arthur turned his eyes back up at the Archer and smiled. It was not a pleasant one.

"And then there's my Servant. The one you dismissed as a mere animal undeserving of the title of kingship. I had heard that the Grail was to bestow knowledge of this modern era to all the Servants it summons, but you've proven that I was wrong in my assumption. If it had you would have known. You _all_ would have known," He addressed the other two Servants, "that he is as young Waver said, a dinosaur. One of the primordial beasts which ruled this world long before mankind but more than that he is a Tyrannosaurus Rex, a species which has been declared as the king of all kings in the domain of animal life, the absolute warlord of the earth, the prized fighter of antiquity. Though many can claim to know the names of Alexander the Great, King Arthur, and Gilgamesh, there is no one person who has heard of dinosaurs who has not known the Tyrannosaurus Rex.

"If strength is granted to a Servant by reverence and age of the legend, then you and all who stand against us are already lost. For while yours is the oldest of human legends here, the legend of my Servant surpasses yours by millions of years. Sixty-five million at the least, a hundred at the most, so boast all that you like if it makes you feel better about yourself. You'll still be nothing more than a third-rate legend in the eyes of humanity."

The Beast rolled his eyes but there was no missing the reddish tint beneath turquoise scales. "Be you ever so humble, Master."

It was hard to describe the look on the Archer's face. There was fury there, of that there can be no question, but the Golden Servant's eyes were tiny pinpricks and if he had not the ironclad control over his dignity as the King of Heroes, he'd likely be frothing at the mouth as his hands twitched to grasp Ea—but no. Much as he wanted Arthur's head served to him on a diamond-encrusted platter of freshly shined gold, he would not dare to sully the blade of _his_ sword by drawing it forth in the presence of such trash.

To do such would not merely sully his sword but guarantee the trash a quick demise.

The Archer glared down upon the Master of the Beast and proceeded to describe to him the measure of the King's Rage and the tortures that Arthur would endure long before the King of Heroes would allow him to die. By the end of it, the Archer was pleased to see that the Rider's Master had lost his lunch over the side of his Servant's chariot, the Saber's own appearing far paler than was likely healthy, and both of their respected Servants looking respectfully tensed and ready to flee should the Archer turn his rage upon them.

At least, that's how the Archer interpreted the reactions of his fellow kings.

As for the Beast and his Master, well…

"Wow. I'm fairly certain half of that is not even physically possible but I'll give you credit where credit is due, King of Heroes. You've quite the imagination." There it was again, that not-so-pleasant smile. "Too bad you won't be alive to see your dreams become a reality."

No one saw it at first, because no one had eyes anywhere but upon the Golden Servant himself whose vicious glare had yet to leave either pair that had instilled such inhuman fury within him. No one witnessed the blur of blackened steel enshrouded in shadows until it was up and leaping through the air, grasping two of the many weapons still lying halfway through the open passageway into the Gates of Babylon. But they did see the results of the Berserker laying Claim to the Noble Phantasms that once belonged to the King of Heroes. As for the Archer all that he knew was that for whatever reason, he seemed to be rolling through the air.

The very last thing the Archer saw was his headless body falling from its perch before fanged jaws closed and darkness was heralded by a single sound.

_Gulp_.

The Beast licked at his chops. "Huh. Tasted better than the Lancer did." He glanced at the body and to his disappointment saw that it was already vanishing away into the ether.

Arthur chuckled and patted his Servant's leg. "Come on. Lets see if you have any taste for cows."

"Cows… Those are like three-horns right? But less ornery?"

"That's debatable but—" He whirled sharply just in time to watch the howling Berserker descended upon the surprised Saber, the two Noble Phantasms which he had claimed still clutched tightly in his hands though the Gates of Babylon had been sealed with the death of their Keeper. "HEART!"

The Beast needed no further words from his Master as he twisted tightly into the air, leg lashing out and delivering a swift high kick to the descending Berserker and sending the shadowed knight flying into a shipping crate and impeded into the steel. Thankfully, the force of the blow was great enough to loose the Archer's weapons from the Mad Servant's grip and they followed in their original owner's wake into the ether.

"I agreed with your Master in ending the life of the Archer, Knight! I swore to keep your identity a secret so long as you keep your strife with Her Majesty from interfering with bringing an end to the most dangerous Servant in this War!" snapped Arthur. "Go back to your Master, Knight! There will be no more killing tonight."

The shadows swirled and the Berserker was gone and Arthur relaxed at his disappearance.

"There's just no working with some people," muttered the Beast with a scoff, scratching at an errant itch on the bottom of his neck.

"Aye, that there's not…" muttered Arthur before turning and bowing apologetically to the Saber who had been dealt with one shock after another that she could best be compared to a fish at this point. "My apologies for my friend's Servant, Your Majesty but I had hoped that the Knight's… ire… could be controlled."

"Wait…" Irisviel shook her head, which was pounding slightly from the sudden influx of not one but two Servants swirling within her in the span of a single night. "You made a partnership with Berserker's Master? To kill Archer?"

Arthur blinked in surprise. "What? No, killing Gilgamesh was part of the deal of our partnership, one that I'm hoping you and yours are still open to your majesties." He addressed the Rider and the Saber. "As bad as Gilgamesh might have been, he was not whom I fear to be the greatest danger in this war."

The Saber's eyes narrowed at this. The way that Arthur was speaking… was though he was afraid but not for himself. Was it instinct or her royal pedigree that made it easier for her to discern when one was pleading for their life or the life of others? In life, Arturia might have learned from where but in this sleeping death, she had no means to discover for herself where she ended and King Arthur began. But it didn't matter, not really. If there was a Servant so terrible that would warrant a man bowing before his opponents in a War, it at least earned her attention.

"You speak of Caster?" asked the Rider, rubbing at his beard. "He is the only Servant I have not had the pleasure of meeting yet."

Arthur did not bother to repress the shiver of disgust that went down his spine as he scowled openly. "You should consider that a blessing, Sire. I know not how such a revolting example of humanity could be considered by anyone as a hero but he is here regardless and he continues the acts that earned him his death by hanging and being set aflame at the same time. I know not if either of you have heard of the name but I sincerely hope that your Masters have." Arthur took a shuddering breath. "His name… is Giles de Rais."

* * *

_ "Keep this up and you'll be a tough adult. No one will eat you."_

_"I won't cry! I'll be as strong as you dad!"_

_"Yes, yes you will. An opening!"_

_"Ah!"_

_BOOM._

_"… Dad, are you okay?"_

_"… Tomorrow, I'll teach you how to fight…"_

* * *

She knew nothing of the man that the Caster had been in life. Contrary to most assumptions of the Holy Grail's gift of bestowing knowledge upon the Servants, it did not make them walking encyclopedia of every known entity that sat upon the Throne of Heroes. She had known of the Lancer by the closeness of his legend to her own, not in the sense of being connected but in actual distance to the land that she had ruled. Much as it left a bitter taste in her mouth to admit, she had known nothing of the Rider or the Archer and curiosity bade her to search for the facts that she had been denied.

She had been surprised.

Who would have thought such a boisterous fool would be capable of conquering most of the then-known World?

Though it did satisfy her to find that the Master of the Beast had been correct in his assumptions of the Archer's legend. She found the more recognition of the Servant's name came in the form of other entities, fictionalized but more recognized by their own merits than the King of Heroes for whom they were named.

It was almost sad really.

Then she began a search for the Caster of this War.

She had no choice really, not when she had the misfortune of having a short and unnerving meeting with the man. She knew then, long before finding documented evidence of the fact, that the Caster was quite mad. He fully believed her to be a woman he had known in life, Joan of Arc, and his refusal to believe otherwise was the biggest damning piece of evidence yet.

Then she had the chance to discover for herself the man known as Giles de Rais.

She regretted not heeding the suggestion offered by Master of the Beast, to unleash the full might of her sword upon the Caster when she had the chance, she truly did.

Now, the lives of innocent children were paid for the cost of her hubris.

The monstrosities which had torn themselves free from the flesh of the children towered over her, baring some depraved resemblance to the Beast if only in general shape of the body. These demons were smaller, half his size if even that much, and were covered in slick, slimy flesh with random patches of bony spurs. They possessed no such thing that could be labeled as eyes but there were patches of softened flesh where such organs would possibly be on the malformed heads.

Thus far, she had managed to repel them but for every one she struck down, two more would rise from the fallen corpse. As it was, a fight that had started with six against one had now grown to five times that with her now actually struggling to keep herself from increasing the odds, but she had to consider herself lucky in a way.

If the Beast hadn't seen fit to try and devour the Lancer and succeed where she had failed in killing him, she'd still be crippled by the injury to her hand.

Too bad for her, that would not be the end of the Saber's debt to the Beast.

The moon was covered for a brief moment and she would have assumed it as a passing cloud had not the sound of a battle cry reached her ears. Leaping away with a small burst of prana, the Saber cut her way through the tightly packed horde just in time as the Beast came crashing down in the midst of them. Bones were crushed and slick flesh ruptured beneath the weight of the Beast who quickly back-flipped over an attacker from behind and kicking the offending demon's head hard enough to rip it free from its neck.

Ducking low to the earth, the Beast charged through the masses, knocking them aside like they were kindling until he slid to a halt just above the surprised Saber. She watched his eyes and saw how they were tracking the demons, noting which ones were healing and what others were simply ripping free from the dead.

"Why—?"

"Be gone from here Tyrant Lizard King!" shrieked the Caster from the opposite side of the horde, his already bulbous eyes threatening to bulge right out of his skull. "Don't you dare try to taint my beloved Jean's soul with your presence here!"

The Beast's eyes narrowed at the mad Caster and growled in open disgust. "Just be thankful I'm only going to kill you where you stand rather than devour you whole and alive, Caster! I have no love for foul-tasting scum like you!"

The Caster's response was a wordless shriek as the horde roared with him with maddening howls. The Beast blinked once before smiling, revealing every single one of his sharp fangs.

"Close your ears," was all the warning that he gave to the Saber who, though hesitant to obey the words of an animal, did as instructed and just in time too. For in the time she questioned the validity of adhering to the commands of the Beast, he had taken a large breath of air that he then unleashed in a massive _Roar._

It was a sound not heard upon the surface of Earth, upon Gaia herself, since the world was young and glowed like an embryo in a perpetually black sea of twinkling lights. Where the molten lifeblood of the planet flowed freely as the once single and solid continent began a millennia long divide into seven. A time where the strong preyed upon the weak, where the only law was that of eat or be eaten. And yet, here now stood one who defied that law not once but _twice_.

Born and raised as a plant-eater only to discover the truth of his heritage and so become as he was meant to be but not for long. No, he too had stumbled upon an abandoned egg and upon hatching was proudly proclaimed as "father" by the hatchling within. Much as he denied it, much as he fought to obey the laws of nature, Heart could not devour that which he soon came to call a son.

This and so much more was in the vocalization simply referred to as a "roar". For Heart was his father's son and when he roared it was with everything that he had and as such, the Earth itself seemed to suddenly still. For though he had not intended it, more than just the horde of demons had halted upon hearing his roar.

For you see…She had _heard… _and though She was but a child then… the Earth _remembered_…

In that briefest of moments, a mere speck of sand across the near timeless age of the planet Earth, a miracle unlike anything that has ever occurred before or ever will again occurred. Gaia, the Will of the Planet, and Alaya, the Will of Humanity, ceased their endless struggle against the other and they _listened_. Though neither could be so limited as to be conformed to a mortal form, if either of the two fractured sides of a once whole world did they would be looking askance to the other. One in shock and tearful remorse for the multitude of children that She had lost to no fault of Her own and the other in awe and amazement over that which permeated the dreams and boundless imagination of those whom She swore protection over.

So it was in that moment, in that tiny speck of time, that a miracle the likes of which even the Holy Grail, for all of its miraculously tainted power, could not bestow.

The Will of the Planet and the Will of Humanity heard.

And responded in kind.

* * *

**Through the next gazing of the Kaleidoscope...**

_"The Chaos"_

* * *

**Statistics:**

**Class:** Beast  
**Identity:** Heart**  
Basic Stats:**  
_Alignment:_ Lawful Neutral  
_Noble Phantasms: _A_  
Strength:_ A  
_Endurance:_ A  
_Agility:_ B++  
_Mana: _E_  
Luck:_ B

**Class Skills:  
**_Independent Action:_ EX_  
Magic Resistance:_ Unknown

**Personal Skills:  
**_Animal Dialogue: _EX_  
Battle Continuation: _A*  
_Dinosaurian Martial Arts:_ EX  
_Guardian Knight: _A*  
_Instinct:_ A+++  
_Monstrous Strength:_ A*

* See Dinosaur: A Remnant of Prehistory: EX

**Noble Phantasms:**  
_Dinosaur: A Remnant of Prehistory: _EX  
_ROAR!: Declaration of a Primordial King: _A

Exposition:  
**_Magic Resistance_****_:_** Unknown  
Heart was born, raised, and died at a time where magic did not exist in the sense that though the energies were there, no being on the planet made use of it but Gaia herself and even She only used it for the most miraculous of all things: the creation of Life. As such, it is unknown just how well magecraft of any era would work on Heart. Spells which create elemental effects might still damage him, for fire is still fire no matter whence it came, but spells which alter the mind or damage the body may have little to no effect on the tyrannosaur.

**_Dinosaurian Martial Arts: _**EX  
Due to his being raised by a plant-eater, Heart took great care to train everyday to make up for the supposed weaknesses he saw in himself when compared to other "Big Jaws". Thanks to the games he played with his adopted brother Light, Heart knew that his greatest weakness was his arms and his greatest strength his legs. As such, he trained them both to astounding levels to the point where, as a mere teenager, he was able to leap up and deliver a fierce high-kick to the head of a titanosaurus. This in itself wouldn't be all that surprising if it weren't for the fact that the titanosaurus was standing up on its hind-legs at the time. If a better example is necessary however… Heart was able to defeat not one but _three_ older tyrannosaurs without ever once using his jaws. He even managed to _throw_ one such tyrannosaur into the air with one arm before leaping up and delivering two swift kicks to the sternum before slamming his opponent back to the ground via a tail whip.

**_Dinosaur: A Remnant of Prehistory: _**EX  
Any and all creatures which existed in the time before that which recognizes itself, and is acknowledged as, "Man". The more recognized the dinosaur, the more revered their legend is in the world of Man, the higher the ranking and thus, the more powerful the Servant is. Heart is a tyrannosaurus rex, one of the most well known prehistoric animals in the entirety of the world, which explains his incredibly high ranking. Because of this, he attains a unnaturally high stats for parameters often attributed for human Heroic Spirits which nearly puts him on par with the most illustrious of phantasmal beasts: dragons. However, just as the reverence of legend gives Heart power so too does it grant him a weakness. He must adhere to the reverences of the Modern World, which means that as many people are oft to imagine of a tyrannosaur in this day and age, he must eat to survive and there is no better meal than another Servant…

**_ROAR!: Declaration of a Primordial King:_** A  
A skill possessed by Heart's birth father, Baku the One-Eyed, and inevitably found in his son. _ROAR!: Declaration of a King _is an Anti-Army Noble Phantasm similar to Frankenstein's _Scream of the False Lifeform_ insomuch that any of insufficient endurance whom hear it, are immediately brought to their knees from sheer, primordial fear of a predator crafted throughout the millennia. Unfortunately for most Servants, such endurance cannot be found except for the most stalwart of Heroic Spirits, those whom faced beasts of the phantasmal nature and emerged victorious or who are such monsters themselves…


	13. The Chaos

**DISCLAIMER:** All copyrighted materials belong to their respected owners.

* * *

They are sitting upon tiles of gold and black. Seven figures in all formed from purest of silver and shining like stars in the perpetual darkness that surrounds them. Each piece is a representation of a distinctive class of Servant, the primary seven that are supposed to be summoned in every Holy Grail War since the time of the cataclysmic disaster that had been the first. The second War was hardly any better but the Third… oh but the travesty that had occurred…

From that travesty, any War which followed in the wake of the Third would always end in disaster for though the Holy Grail would and still could grant any wish the winner desired, it was by the will of that which now clung tightly upon it like a cancer to its once glorious chalice and stained it black with decay and evil. How much evil you ask…?

Why, all the evil in the world.

So here they sit, the seven Servants of the Holy Grail War, awaiting their chance to move upon the board and play the game anew. Neither they nor their Masters ever made aware of the agonies that would meet them should they prove victorious. There, at the front of the pack sits the coveted Saber, masters of the blade. On either side sits the remaining knight classes of Archer and Lancer, both with the weapons that begot them their namesake clutched tightly in hand. Just behind the foremost Servant was the robed figure of the Caster, an artisan of their age. Behind the magician was the wretched figures of a cloaked Assassin hiding their face behind a skulled visage and the Berserker whose madness was so feral that to wear the head of a beast made its appearance as a wild beast all the more apparent. At the rear came the Rider, clutching reins tightly in hand.

Seven in all…

There was plenty of space upon the opened board and the prize at the opposite end. From the blackness, a hand reached out…

And took the madness in its grasp.

A feral thing, guided more by monstrous bloodlust than intelligent thought, and certainly without the almost regal dignity necessary for the three Knight Classes. A mad dog put on a tight leash that did little to curb its disobedience and offered little to no control over that which was as wild as the wind in the midst of a storm.

But then, it was a Berserker…

* * *

**_From Across the Throne of Heroes_**

_"The Chaos"_

* * *

Let it never be said that Jubstacheit von Einzbern did not care for any of his family, artificial or natural. Why, he had been exceptionally gracious towards his "granddaughter", the scion of the Einzbern family's greatest betrayer, Kiritsugu Emiya, by not only allowing her to live but to break the solemn vow to the girl's mother and make unto her the next vessel for the Holy Grail. An agonizing process that would kill normal people, Jubstacheit further proved his love for his grandchild by torturing her endlessly with lies of her father's abandonment and betrayal, of her mother's death and needless sacrifice, and that no matter how much she wished otherwise, there would be no end to the "training" which she received at his cold, merciless hands.

Truly, Jubstacheit von Einzbern cared deeply for his family.

If he hadn't, why then would he declare Illyasviel ready to summon a Servant of her own for the early arrival of the Fifth Holy Grail War? Why then would he grant her the use of a catalyst in which to summon her Servant forth? True, he had thrown her out of the familial estate into the freezing woods of Germany's Black Forest in the middle of the night, but he had the good grace to have her attired rather than stuck out in the bitter winter completely naked as he had for her mother. That the wolves of the forest were proving exceptionally daring were hardly any concern as Illya was quite capable of defending herself from harm, even if she had been starved the previous day and endured a cold Germanic winter night in nothing more than a nightgown.

If she couldn't, well then she'd be dead and her purpose, while unfulfilled, could easily be substituted.

So here Illyasviel was, running for her life as a pack of the white-furred wolves that made the Black Forest infamous across the entirety of the World gave chase after her. Her feet were bloody and were she of a natural body, would have long since succumbed to the necrotic fangs of frostbite. Her once pristine nightgown was torn and shredded in several places and stained with ugly red splotches around those vicious cuts.

Still she kept running with one hand clasping tightly the small piece of meteoric rock that her grandfather deemed adequate enough to summon a Servant. A summoning that she had neither the energy nor the breath to properly invoke, but that was okay.

For some things, words just weren't necessary.

Illyasviel glanced back to see how close the wolves were and tripped over a hidden root and tumbled into the freezing snow. She closed her eyes tightly, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she prepared for an end that was long in waiting… and still not yet arrived? And was it wicked imagination brought on by a cruel combination of hunger and fatigue that sparked the sudden feeling of magic in the air? She dared not open her eyes to find out but listened with rapt attention as the strangely childish sounding roar that halted the wolves in their tracks.

Curiosity soon won over fear and Illyasviel opened her eyes just in time to witness the very tree whose roots she had tripped over being ripped from free from the earth and hurled with all the ease of one tossing a stick. She could have sworn she had heard someone call out, "Fetch doggies!" but was frankly far too shocked to do anything more than flap her mouth like a fish. Not because the wolves had at long last given up the chase and were fleeing with their tails between their legs. Not because she had witnessed a several centuries old tree being hurled with the ease of one tossing a Frisbee.

No, it was because the mighty Servant Berserker that she had inexplicably summoned _two months early_… was all of three feet tall if even that much. More than that however, more than his unbelievable strength or his strange, almost alien physique… was one simple inexcusable fact that would forever endear him in his Master's heart.

"You're so cute! And fluffy!"

Okay then, two facts but no more than that!

* * *

_"You stand before this council accused of illegal genetic experimentation!"_

_"How do you plead?"_

_"Not guilty! My experiments are only theoretical and completely within legal boundaries."_

_"We believe you actually… created something."_

_"Created something? HAH! But that would be irresponsible and unethical. I would never, ever…"_

_FWISH_

_"… Make… more than one?"_

* * *

In hindsight, Shirou Emiya should have realized that breaking one of the cardinal rules of magi was just asking for retribution by Akasha itself. But really, how was he to know that even thinking that the night which had already revealed one impossible revelation after another could possibly get any worse? A classmate being not only a magi but the Guardian of the Land, witnessing not one but _three_ legendary heroes fight to the death, becoming a part of a secret battle royale for the Holy Grail? Surely there was no other curveball that the Root could _possibly _throw at him next.

Oh Shirou…

Just be thankful that you kept the words in your head for surely retribution would have come to you on three separate fronts by dawn's breaking…

Contrary to what you might assume, you would most certainly have died without ever once being killed.

He was the first of the three to spot her, again with that strange accompaniment of feeling as though she were someone he should know. No, not just that… Someone close to him if not by blood but by—

"Good evening, onii-chan. This is the second time we've met like this isn't it?" The pale-haired young girl turned her crimson eyes to the girl at Shirou's left and curtseyed politely. "How do you do, Rin? I am Illya. Illyasviel von Einzbern. I assume you've heard of me?"

By the way her own skin paled, it seemed that the young Tohsaka had indeed. "Einzbern…?"

Illya giggled. "I suppose there's no point in making any more introductions. After all, you're all going to die here. Okay? I'm going to kill you now. Go get them, Berserker!"

It was then, in that moment, where three pairs of eyes were at long last taken away from the foreign magus and at last fell upon the being at her side. By the name, Shirou had admittedly thought of some sort of hulking brute, leather-skinned and red-eyed with madness. What he saw instead… Well…

"Uh… isn't that just a puppy?" asked Shirou.

To the boy's credit, he actually kept a straight, if not slightly confused, face by the strange appearance of the Servant and was still sensibly cautious from its presence. After all, though he could not see it or feel it as most magi can, there was no mistaking the sheer _power_ in the Berserker's scent…

And the smell of coffee and coconuts…

An odd but pleasant mix…

His Servant, the Saber of the Fifth Holy Grail War and a veteran of the Fourth, kept narrowed eyes upon the Berserker. The shifting winds in the grasp of her right hand were the only sign of her sword's sudden appearance but she made no move to strike just yet. Like her Master, she could not outright believe that this tiny pup was to be the Berserker of this War. Yet if the last had taught her anything then it was to never judge a Servant by their appearance alone.

No matter how cute and fluffy they were.

Rin Tohsaka, Guardian of the Land and the last of a line of once prestigious and obscenely rich magi, whose acting skills were the kind that would make playwrights as great as Shakespeare himself beg on hands and knees for her to be in every production possible, and one who remained stone-faced in the face of his sister's removal, her father's death, and her mother's insanity… Cracked like an egg and broke out in uproarious laughter at the sight of the tiny Servant.

"Th-That's your Servant?! Wh-What's he gonna do? _Bark_ at us?!" She laughed so hard tears were coming out of her eyes and she likely would have kept on laughing if something wet and slimy hadn't hit her right in the kisser with a slick splat.

She froze. Slowly, almost mechanically, a hand reached up and touched the viscous fluid and realized the fact that yes indeed the Servant Berserker had decided his opening move for the Fifth Holy Grail War to be a spitball to the face.

Shirou blinked in surprise and managed to repress the urge to snigger because really, the look on Tohsaka's face… but no, a hero does not laugh. Not aloud where the victim can hear and offer her own form of retribution anyway.

Illya had no such strength as her adopted brother and was laughing alongside her Servant.

Saber scowled in distaste but there was a slight smirk to her face at seeing the arrogant Master receiving her long overdue comeuppance.

As for Rin… Well…

She twitched once before letting loose an animalistic scream that would wake the dead.

Yet again she would owe Shirou Emiya her life thanks to the fact that the taller redhead deemed it necessary to hold the girl back lest she actually try and throttle the Berserker with her bare hands.

A good thing he did considering that the Berserker decided for his second move to knock down the nearest streetlamp and proceed to use it as a massive hammer in a demented reimagining of whack-a-mole with the startled Saber. The blonde-haired Servant only managed to escape from the now weapon-bearing Servant's strikes by taking to the phone lines above and running across them. The Berserker shouted and toss the streetlamp ahead of her, ending her escape and bringing down the telephone lines for the entire block in the process.

The Saber leapt for the Berserker's Master and landed before the small girl sword upraised for the killing stroke.

And stopped.

Just as her Master, the Saber had an innate feeling that there was more to this girl than appearance's belayed. However, where Shirou's came from the depths of his gut and with no real name to it, the Saber's came from an errant memory not from her life as a mortal but that as a Servant. Of a scruffy faced man with a heart of cold, unbending steel smiling with all the warmth of a loving father upon a girl who possessed both her mother's eyes and hair…

Déjà vu aside… If there were a few lessons from that bumbling fool of a wizard that Arturia Pendragon ever took to heart it was '_There was no such thing as coincidence_'.

"Are you Ki—?" The Saber had no chance to finish as her title was cried out by her Master, drawing emerald eyes away from crimson just in time to see the Berserker descending upon her once more but with a drastic change to his appearance. She leapt clear, once more putting herself between her Master and the Berserker, taking in the creature's altered appearance with a critical eye. Still short and oddly colored, the Berserker now sported a second pair of arms beneath the first, twin antennae twitching upon his brow, and along his spine a trio of bladed quills.

And yet somehow, the Berserker still maintained the visage of being both fluffy and cute.

_That has to be a Noble Phantasm of some sort,_ the Saber decided. _There is no other way that I could consider such a sight as that being cute._

It was then, unfortunately, that the Saber's still earlier injury made itself known and brought the blonde swordswoman down to one knee, a gauntlet covered hand reaching up to her breast.

"Saber!" Recognizing that his Servant was still suffering from her earlier battle, Shirou raised forward to try and get between her and the Berserker when, surprisingly, Rin pulled him back and put herself between him and his Servant.

"Vier Stil Erschiessung!" A curse that hails from the lands of Scandinavia, the _Gandr_ is not a wholly powerful use of magic though it lives up to its reputation of being one of the more vicious of curses. A single hit decreases the physical health of the target by equal equivalence to the amount of power in the "shot". That is to say, the more prana forced into the _Gandr_ the more powerful it becomes, and though she is not a member of the Edelfelt family, Rin's own variation of the spell is akin to being hit by a pistol bullet at point blank range.

By all accounts, the Berserker should have been at least been mildly disorientated by his virtue of being a Servant alone despite the "aid" of madness under his Class. But the Berserker did not even so much as twitch at the first shot, the sixth, and all the way down to the twenty-sixth. Oh no, he didn't twitch or even blink.

He _giggled_.

"Wha-What is _that thing?!_" shrieked Rin, seriously considering the pros and cons of using her last Command Spell to summon forth her Servant regardless of his own injuries at the Saber's sword.

Glancing away from the girl who was two steps shy of having a hissy fit, the Berserker's obsidian orbs returned to the Saber and, with a toothy smile, he reached behind his back…

And pulled out a quartet of _guns_.

"Meega, nala kwishta! Hahahahaha!" So said the Berserker before unleashing a torrent of plasma-burning bullets of blazing bedlam upon the Saber who had no chance to dodge the hailstorm of ammunition. To her credit as both a warrior and a Servant, she was thrown back with nary a sound for though her faerie-forged armor had maintained its form, each ball-sized bullet had impacted against her with the force of a cannonball.

"Saber!" Once more, Shirou tried to interfere and again he was repelled but this time by the bloodied hand of his Servant. Taking ragged breaths of air, blood dripping forth from her mouth, the Saber rose slowly to her feet with the aid of her sword with the winds guarding its identity splattering her dripping blood about.

"Oh, come on, you can't possibly win. It's quite obvious that my Berserker here is far superior than your King of Knights!" Illyasviel said.

"King of Knights…" murmured Rin before her eyes widened with realization, her head turning sharply to face the bloodied Saber. "You mean she's—?!"

"That's right!" Illyasviel giggled. "The King of Camelot and the ideal for which all knights strive for, King Arturia Pendragon! By all accounts, there is no one better suited for the Saber Class of Servants and yet here is my Servant, an unknown even to my family, standing without injury!" Illyasviel laughed once more. "All right, Berserker! Quickly before Avalon's magic takes hold, blow Saber's head right off like how Papa would!"

_Like… Papa…?_ The Saber blinked, blood coloring her vision red and yet she still saw the woman from whom Illyasviel was birthed standing like a ghost behind the impossibly young-looking girl. _She is—!_

"Ih." The Berserker grunted as he raised his guns and fired—

Just in time for Shirou to throw the Saber aside and take the barrage of plasma for himself.

It was only thanks to his own subconscious _Reinforcement_ that Shirou hadn't been ignited on contact but even so, it was blatantly obvious to all involved that he had taken the mortal blow meant for his Servant with absolutely no hesitation.

"Shirou… Shirou!" cried the Saber, pushing herself to her feet without the aid of her sword while Rin gaped uselessly in the background.

The Berserker had lowered his guns and was staring openmouthed at the boy's body while his Master… Well…

"Why… Why did he do that…?" Illyasviel whispered to herself. "He… He just… Why would he do that?!"

Everything her grandfather had ever said, everything she had ever been told of her father and the boy that he had left her behind to raise as his own child… none of it made any sense with the sight that laid bleeding and smoldering on the ground before her, struggling to stay alive. It was only thanks to her own acute senses as both a homunculus and a vessel for the Holy Grail that Illyasviel became aware of Avalon's power streaming through her adopted brother's bloodied body… and healing it from within one wound at a time.

Too many questions but all that mattered was that her brother would live still to answer them.

"Berserker! We're leaving." Illyasviel turned her back to the group, completely unafraid of retaliation even as she addressed the last of the Tohsaka, the fires of familial jealousy burning free from her sharp tongue. "Oh, and Rin? Just so that we're clear, the next time we meet, I'm going to kill you." She headed off into the darkness of the night while her Servant remained behind.

The Berserker looked once more to Shirou to the guns he held in his paws. He did not see a teenaged boy with red hair willingly placing himself in harm's way for the betterment of his Servant. No, the Berserker saw a girl, obsidian locks screaming for answers in the warning nightmares during those dark days when his own body was turning against him and nearly cost him the life and love of his family.

With nary a second thought, the Berserker _hurled_ them into the far reaches of the city and with a practiced shudder resumed his doggy-like form once more before running off after his Master.

And deep in the dark bowels of her lair, a young woman watched as one of those weapons flew through the air and with nary a spoken word, was caught in midair by an unseen hand.

And the Caster smiled.

* * *

_"Oh yes, mm-hmm, all of our dogs are adoptable… EXCEPT THAT ONE!"_

_"What is that thing?!"_

_"A dog, I think…! But it was dead this morning!"_

_"It was dead this morning?!"_

_"Well we thought it was dead, it was hit by a truck!"_

_"I _like_ him! C'mere boy!"_

* * *

Rin glared across the table and into the bowels of the Emiya household's kitchen where few were allowed to perfect their culinary arts, daring the Berserker to make some kind of move, _any kind of move_ that would warrant a reaction that was both hostile and a little bit overzealous. It was not that she was still sore that her Servant Archer had fallen to this _thing_ so easily, I mean really who could have predicted the little booger leaping up, catching one of _her Servant's_ arrows and tossing it right back at him? If Rin couldn't foresee such a possibility than frankly no one could have. No, her hostilities did not lie so much in the Servant but his Master who had the gall, the sheer unbridled _gall_, to call a truce with _Rin's apprentice!_

The self-same Master who was currently sitting opposite of Shirou, still as stone and her expression harder than granite whilst his Servant Saber explained how it was that she knew of the validity of Illyasviel von Einzbern's claim of being Shirou's sister.

_So what?_ Thought Rin, _Does that mean we should trust her Servant not to poison us?_

Not that the heavenly smells coming from the kitchen belayed any such thought but really, it was a _Servant_ that was _cooking_ in an enemy Master's _kitchen!_ Did nobody else find that completely ludicrous?!

As though summoned by her mental breakdown, the Berserker shuffled into the room with all four of his arms carrying massive trays of food and one atop his head. Setting the trays upon the table, the Berserker sat at his Master's side just as Shirou was beginning to grasp his relationship with Illyasviel.

"So… you're my older sister? I still have…a family?"

Shirou Emiya, bearer of the Unlimited Blade Works, possible candidate for Counter Guardianship for Alaya, and proclaimer of the obvious.

"Ohana!" interrupted the Berserker.

Rin rolled her eyes and took another bite of her heavenly —_adequate—_ meal. It certainly did not match her cook's —_apprentice's_— incredible standards of a meal. No matter that the Saber had taken but a single bite and was actually eating _slowly_. That is to say that her meal was only a third of the way gone and not completely vanished into the impossibly trim waist.

Not that Rin was bitter about that or anything…

"What gibberish your Servant speaks, Einzbern. _Ohana_," Rin said with a sneer as she tried to mimic the small Servant's voice. "What does that even mean?"

For the first time since the Saber had brought heartbreaking memories to the fore of her mind, the fire that Illyasviel had inherited from both her parents alit itself in her eyes but it was not her who answered to the Tohsaka's mockery.

"Ohana means family. Family means nobody gets left behind. Or forgotten."

It was quite considerate of Rin to not have been taking a drink from her tea for, if she had, it surely would have shattered like fine porcelain in her hands no matter the amount of _reinforcement_ she poured into it.

"It _talks too?!_" she screeched. "That little monster can hurl cars with ease, grasp concepts faster than my idiot cook over there, stop a swing from _Excalibur_ with its bare hands, and now it can apparently hold a conversation?! Just what are you, you little monster?!"

The Berserker blinked before smiling toothily at the Tohsaka. "Cute and fluffy!"

A few miles away, deep in the bowels of his church, one Kirei Kotomine suddenly felt as though he had missed a golden opportunity as a faint but oh so familiar scream of reached his ears…

* * *

**Through the next gazing of the Kaleidoscope...**

_The Inspirer  
_

* * *

**Statistics:**

**Class:** Berserker  
**Identity:** Experiment 626 ("Stitch")**  
Basic Stats:**  
_Alignment:_ Chaotic  
_Noble Phantasms: _B_  
Strength:_ EX  
_Endurance:_ A+++  
_Agility:_ B  
_Mana: _E_  
Luck:_ C

**Class Skills:  
**_Independent Action:_ EX*  
_Mad Enhancement: _E_  
Presence Concealment:_ C*  
_Riding:_ B**

**Personal Skills:  
**_Alien Dialogue:_ C*_  
Battle Continuation: _A+*  
_Monstrous Strength:_ EX*  
_Presence Detection:_ A+*  
_Shapeshift:_ E*  
_Unnatural Body:_ EX*

* See Wild Experimentation: The Creation of an Evil Genius  
** See Snatch & Grab: That Which Catches the Eyes is Grasped Firmly in Hand

**Noble Phantasms:**  
_Suspension of Disbelief: Seeing is Believing:_ N/A_  
Wild Experimentation: The Creation of an Evil Genius:_ EX_  
Snatch & Grab: That Which Catches the Eye is Grasped Firmly in Hand:_ E—A  
_Aloha!: The Breaking of Conventions: _Unknown  
_Ohana: Ichariba Chode:_ A

Exposition:  
**_Alien Dialogue:_** C  
Experiment 626 is fluent in 20 different languages but prefers his "native" tongue of Tantalog. Though capable of speaking both English and Japanese, it is a crude form of it and oftentimes consisted of several choice words not fit for innocent ears.

**_Suspension of Disbelief: Seeing is Believing:_** N/A**  
**While not strictly a Phantasmal Beast, Experiment 626 and all other alien life forms possess a unique variation of this Anti-Unit Noble Phantasm. Unlike with most Phantasmal Beasts, such as Y Ddraig Goch, it does not matter the power of the alien life form or the nature of those surrounding them that allow humans, be they mage or mundane, to see them as they truly are. That is to say, if the alien life form can at least be compared to something that closely resembles it, they will see it as such unless the alien qualities are made blatantly obvious. In the case of Experiment 626, despite his odd coloration and unique eyes, so long as his maintains his guise as a mere dog, he will be seen as such by all who observe him. However, once his alien nature is made clear, _Suspension of Disbelief _will no longer work on those who've made the realization of his true nature.

**_Wild Experimentation: The Creation of an Evil Genius:_** EX  
A unique Noble Phantasm in which it is neither a conceptual idea or a weapon but the actual body of the Servant Berserker. Created by the greatest xeno-biologist/geneticist in the Milky Way Galaxy the experiment that would later be named simply as "Stitch" is the 626th creation of the mad genius Jumba Jookiba and arguably the greatest of them. By his creator's own admittance, Experiment 626 is "_Bulletproof, fireproof, shockproof, and can think faster than super computer. He can see in the dark and can move objects 3,000 times his size. His only instinct—to destroy EVERYTHING HE TOUCHES!_" Sad as it might be to catalogue, Doctor Jookiba was being humble in his description of Experiment 626's potential. A basic rundown of Experiment 626's abilities includes…

_Dense Body Tissue_  
Experiment 626 has been recorded as surviving a crash-landing from space with nary a scratch and only briefly stunned by a fall of several thousand feet. Following this, he was run over by three tractor-trailers in rapid succession in order to be knocked out. However, due to his body's molecular density, Experiment 626 is incapable of surviving in water and sinks like a stone.

_Hyper-Cognition_  
Experiment 626's brainpower is something of interest in that while being hyper-intelligent, he is but a child in actual age and has a similarly, if not slightly enhanced, destructive mentality. That being said however, Experiment 626's brain is an information repository with a full dictionary, thesaurus, & encyclopedia catalogue of information granted to him both by his creator and the Holy Grail. In technological terms, his brain has a memory storage space that is equal to 300 PB of memory. In a full number of bytes, that is equal to 300,000,000,000,000,000.

_ Electromagnetic Vision_  
Experiment 626's eyes can pick up various forms of light and can filter out one or the other as he dims fit. His known modes of sight include, but likely aren't limited to, magnification, infrared, night vision, and x-ray vision.

_ Monstrous Strength  
_Experiment 626 is capable of lifting objects 3,000 times his mass due to the fact that his muscles contain excessive compressed amounts of myofibril in one muscle. This muscular arrangement lets Experiment 626's muscles contract 1,000 times faster than a human's muscles can.

**_Snatch & Grab: That Which Catches the Eye is Grasped Firmly in Hand:_** E—A  
Experiment 626 is capable of grasping concepts within moments and as such, can perfectly comprehend the use of any weapon or vehicle he can hold in his hands. However, oftentimes as soon as he grasps said tool in hand(s), Experiment 626 either loses or destroys it beyond recognition, hence this Noble Phantasm's fluctuating rank between E and A. This Noble Phantasm also ties into his Class Skill of Riding insomuch that Experiment 626 is capable of driving any sort of vehicle but is incapable of riding anything classified as a "beast", phantasmal or otherwise.

**_Aloha!: The Breaking of Conventions:_**Unknown  
A… unique… Noble Phantasm the likes of which cannot be fully explained or comprehended, even by Experiment 626. All that is known of this Noble Phantasm is that it allows Experiment 626 to breach the barriers of the Fourth Wall of Akasha by breaking several known conventions of reality itself. One such example of this is his innate ability to produce alien weaponry fit for his size or taking a ukulele and using it as a weapon to produce sonic waves. Most predominantly though, it is a likely explanation for Experiment 626's inexplicable ability to find himself right in the middle of situations he ought to not be involved in.

**_Ohana: Ichariba Chode:_** A  
Similar in nature both to the Reality Marble of Alexander the Great and the Noble Phantasm of the Shadow of Spawn, _Ohana: Ichariba Chode_ is a Noble Phantasm that allows Experiment 626 to summon forth as many of his fellow Experiments as he desires, all under the same Servant classification as he. However, the more of his "cousins" Experiment 626 summons, the more his and their abilities are divided for every one Experiment he summons meaning he can't summon more than three at a time. The name of this Noble Phantasm is an abbreviation of its full and properly translated title which is: _Family: Though We Meet But Once, Even By Chance, We Are Friends For Life_.

Notable Experiments include but are not limited to:

_Experiment 010_  
Name: Felix/Oscar  
Powers: Sterilization of matter.  
Unique Features: Experiment 010 possesses an elephantine trunk and a broom-tipped tuft at the end of his tail.  
Interesting Fact: Due to previous attempts at reprograming, Experiment 010 developed a split personality. The dominant personality, "Felix", is the original cleanliness obsessed personality while the other, "Oscar", is the polar opposite.

_Experiment 221  
_Name: Sparky  
Powers: Electrokinesis  
Unique Features: Longer antennae than most Experiments and speaks with a slight electrical "lisp".  
Interesting Fact: Favorite food consists of freshly charged batteries.

_Experiment 523  
_Name: Slushy  
Powers: Cryokinesis  
Unique Features: Unlike most Experiments, "Slushy" is not organic and is literally made of ice and slush.  
Interesting Fact: Experiment 523's powers are strongest with enough humidity in the air.

_Experiment 624  
_Name: Angel  
Powers: Siren song which can alter personalities of any who hear it to their polar opposite  
Unique Features: Aside from being one of the few female Experiments, "Angel" speaks with a slight Scottish accent.  
Interesting Fact: Experiment 624 is Experiment 626's lover.

* * *

**Author's Note:_  
_**

I'm writing this note to formally announce my dedicating myself to writing professionally, something that I have been doing for the better part of the last two years but am only now truly stating to you all, my dear readers. That and I have recently established for myself a professional blog to host the beginning chapters of original works I've created thus far, including one such story that I hope to be the start of a series of short stories I've entitled as Growing Up Monstrous. The link for my blog can be found at my author's page entitled as "Bibliotheca Somniare Corvus".

I thank all my readers and fans of my works for if not for your kind words and fantastic works of your own, I would never have found myself where I am today.


	14. The Inspirer

**DISCLAIMER:** All copyrighted materials belong to their respected owners.

* * *

They are sitting upon tiles of gold and black. Seven figures in all formed from purest of silver and shining like stars in the perpetual darkness that surrounds them. Each piece is a representation of a distinctive class of Servant, the primary seven that are supposed to be summoned in every Holy Grail War since the time of the cataclysmic disaster that had been the first. The second War was hardly any better but the Third… oh but the travesty that had occurred…

From that travesty, any War which followed in the wake of the Third would always end in disaster for though the Holy Grail would and still could grant any wish the winner desired, it was by the will of that which now clung tightly upon it like a cancer to its once glorious chalice and stained it black with decay and evil. How much evil you ask…?

Why, all the evil in the world.

So here they sit, the seven Servants of the Holy Grail War, awaiting their chance to move upon the board and play the game anew. Neither they nor their Masters ever made aware of the agonies that would meet them should they prove victorious. There, at the front of the pack sits the coveted Saber, masters of the blade. On either side sits the remaining knight classes of Archer and Lancer, both with the weapons that begot them their namesake clutched tightly in hand. Just behind the foremost Servant was the robed figure of the Caster, an artisan of their age. Behind the magician was the wretched figures of a cloaked Assassin hiding their face behind a skulled visage and the Berserker whose madness was so feral that to wear the head of a beast made its appearance as a wild beast all the more apparent. At the rear came the Rider, clutching reins tightly in hand.

Seven in all…

There was plenty of space upon the opened board and the prize at the opposite end. From the blackness, a hand reached out…

And took a magician firmly in its grasp.

Yet in this modern age what is it that constitutes as magic? That which brought impossible wonders to fruition for all to witness? The acts of the supernatural most would state but others of a different mind would argue that there is magic in all things, that it is not the act itself which is magical but the wonder and awe that it invoked that made it as such.

The kind of magic that inspires to reach for one's dreams, our deepest wishes from the heart…

So who better a Caster than one who seized his own dreams and made unto them, a reality?

* * *

**_From Across the Throne of Heroes_**

_"The Inspirer"_

* * *

There is no such thing as happily ever after.

While a rather pessimistic sentiment it is not one rarely found in most adults the world over, but to discover such a thing firmly rooted in the heart of a child… It is not just a travesty but also a tragedy. A prepubescent girl whose days are spent alone without conversation or smiles, and whose nights are not filled with dreams of tomorrow and wondrously fantastical visions of the past but nightmarish recollections of blood, bone, and ash… The depraved decent of a respected elder sister turned into a monster and the inhumanly cruel murder of a feared father by that same sibling's hands. The best of company being murders of crows no less than two and no more than seven upon the ebony wing when the only thing to occupy her attention were her lonely thoughts and sad memories.

Such is the life of Ayaka Sajyou.

And yet…

Here she was, in the summerhouse she hadn't set foot in since that dark day so few months ago where the bloodied stains still marked the floorboards in the attic above and the ceiling above her head. There she is, fulfilling a desire from an uncaring father set upon by a depraved daughter, both of whom died before the full enactment of magical power could be committed. She had no desire to do as her father had wanted of her sister and she certainly did not care to try as her sister had done to summon the most powerful of Servants to aid her as an equal in magecraft.

Services paid for with the blood of family.

No, Ayaka would not do as her sister had done and she wasn't going to War to fulfill her father's desires. Before, when the candidacy had first been placed upon the Sajyou family, hardly one of the most prestigious of magi families in Japan never mind the world, to fight in the Fourth Holy Grail War, she would have honestly proclaimed no desire, no wish, from the powerful device bearing the name of the Holy Grail.

But that was then

And this was now.

She placed her chosen reagent upon the center of a freshly, if not crudely, drawn circle that sat far and away from any speck of dried blood. Her father had hoped to make use of the original documents pertaining to the King of Camelot and his Knights of the Round Table, a manuscript which was rumored to have been written by Merlin himself. Her sister had gone and tried to go a step further by sacrificing their father and utilizing his blood to try and summon forth the Wizard's nemesis and true ender of Camelot's golden age, Morgan le Fay. Unfortunately for her Ayaka's sister, the power that she forced into the summoning array, doubled to twice its natural strength thanks to the copious amounts of their father's blood, destroyed her and the manuscript together in a blazing glory.

Even now, months after it had occurred, Ayaka could still her sister's screams as though they were occurring right in this very moment…

The bespectacled girl shook her head to rid her ears of the dreadful echoing and focused her eyes once more upon her reagent. Thanks to her father's notes, she knew the full requirements of the reagent necessary to summon forth the desired Servant. The most sure fired way to do receive the Heroic Spirit one intended was to make use of something physically belonging to that long-dead hero. In other ways, that which represented the concept of the Heroic Spirit could also serve to bring them forth. The Assassin Class for example, required but the word itself to summon forth a representative of the Hassan-i-Sabbah, they whom originated the very word of "assassin".

It was with this very concept that the young girl hoped to acquire a Servant by laying down an item that firmly resonated one of her dearly departed mother's morals to her. To anyone else, it was a pen, a fountain pen to be precise but a pen regardless, and yet to the young miss Ayaka Sajyou…

It was mightier than any sword.

She whispered softly the incantation of her choosing instead of those chosen by father and sister and rewarded by a blinding flash of light that sent the ever-watching murder of ravens gazing in from the nearest window into a cawing tither.

She stepped back with a small bead of sweat trembling down her brow and past the lenses of her glasses, her dark blue eyes wide as she tried to peer through the haze of smoke. What the young eight-year-old saw was a man. A young man just nearly out of his teens and dressed rather smartly in a business suit. His dark hair was slicked back along his head with the faint beginnings of a mustache upon his upper lip, a lightly prickled shadow and nothing more. He carried with him no apparent weapons or tools, anything that could be classified as a Noble Phantasm really. He was looking around the room rather casually but when his eyes set upon Ayaka, there was no missing the apparent sadness upon his face.

"You are to be my Master in this War?"

She nodded, silent and unwavering but he could see something still in her eyes, hidden beneath fake lenses. Was it that he sounded everything that she had ever hoped to hear from the mouth of her own father? Or was it that her Servant had shown actual concern for her wellbeing, something she had almost forgotten since her mother's passing? Whatever it was, her Servant could see it as plainly as the nose on her face and so he finalized the contract between them.

"Then by your summoning, I am the Servant… Caster." He chuckled to himself, finding a small tidbit of amusement in his new station and an irony nearly as old as he had been in life coming back to haunt him in death.

Ayaka looked her Servant up and down and stated outright one rather simple fact.

"You don't look like a Caster…"

The Servant, far from offended, actually smiled at his young Master and said, "Aw, but not neither do you look at all like a witch."

For an instant, there was actual emotion in the young girl's eyes, hidden so carefully behind the icy barrier she had erected around her heart. "That's because I'm not. I'm a magus."

"Ah I see. But with friends like those you can hardly blame me."

Ayaka followed his pointing finger and saw that five of the crows had returned and were even taking residence upon the now opened windowpane. Strange how intently they were staring at her Servant though…

"They're not my friends, and if you bothered with them—"

"Ah, I'm not bothered by them at all." The Caster interrupted with a jovial smile. "Why, I know a flock of them that could swear that they'd seen stranger things like a needle that winked an eye or a polka dot railroad tie. Of course, I myself didn't see any of that but to be sociable, I took their word."

It was right about then that Ayaka realized another thing about her Servant.

He was obviously mad as a hatter.

* * *

_"I suppose my formula might be: dream, diversify, and never miss an angle."_

* * *

She thought him a fraud at first. A living lie of a magician if ever there was one. Obviously by appearance alone he was not some wizard of an era of sorcery lost to time but such a thing was made all the more painfully evident when he admitted outright that though he knew of the ways of magic in this modern era thanks to the Holy Grail, he had no means of performing any of that same magic himself.

In other words, he was, in her astute opinion, a charlatan of a mage nothing more but possibly far less. A week's time had done little to change her opinion especially when he pursued such avenues as the newspapers both foreign and domestic, paying far more interest in the entertainment section than anything of greater importance.

And yet…

There was something to him. She didn't know quite what it was —some high level of Charisma perhaps—but whatever the reason, when the Caster promised her a happy ending to this horrible thing called war…

She believed him.

Especially when she was at last about to witness the combined power of his Noble Phantasms though both are quite lackluster in appearance. One, a simple fountain pen of little to no distinction save for a family crest upon its cap and the other a well-worn sketchbook whose pages were so pristinely white they almost glowed.

"Alone," the Caster had explained, "they aren't much but with a little _Spark of Imagination_…"

He took pen to paper and quickly drew an image. In as fast a time as he had taken to create the drawing, the Caster tore it free from his sketchbook and let it be caught on an unfelt wind as the illustration, colored in paints Ayaka never saw in the Caster's hand, pulsed once before a stunning flash of light blinded her momentarily.

When the spots stopped dancing before her eyes, little Ayaka saw that the once bare living room wall was now bedecked with a large and rather illustrious mirror. She had thought the act in itself was impressive though far less rewarding than what she had expected from her Servant. True, it was a fine example of Item Construction but…

"Now, now, that's not all there is to it." The Caster wagged his finger at her, smiling genially and she turned away, berating the childish blush that colored her pale face. She blamed the bond between Master and Servant that allowed hers to see through her emotionless façade so easily. The Caster stood before the mirror and with a great exaggeration of arm waving and finger wiggling.

"_Slave in the magic mirror… Come from the farthest space, through wind and darkness I summon thee…_" This time, there was no mistaking the wind that was blowing through the mansion halls, stirring open the Caster's book and turning the pages wildly from beginning to end. Flames began to burn brightly within the looking glass, fires that slowly took on an emerald hue… "_Speak! Let me see thy face._"

The flames died away into an ethereal smoky mist from which came a masked visage that could be either the masks of Comedy or Tragedy. It might be if such emotions as laughter or despair could be replicated by such a bland visage as that which was the Spirit of the Magic Mirror.

"What is thy bidding my Master?"

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall… Can you reveal the Six Servants all?" asked the Caster ignorant of his tiny Master's open-mouthed wonder at the Spirit of the Magic Mirror.

The Spirit's masked face bowed and the smoke flowed until it vanished and was replaced by the image of the Rider, a burly man of red hair and tanned skin astride a chariot of lightning, "Of the Rider there can be no mistake. The King of Conquerors rides anew, hail to Alexander the Great."

The smoke blew by once more before the Assassin came flying past, one after the other in all of its varying forms. "Multiplicity may deceive his sin, yet in Hassan-i Sabbah is the first true Assassin."

Another gentle whirling of emerald tinted clouds and next was a man of charming looks wielding two spears in hand. "A gaze upon the Lancer ladies feel their hearts be tied into a knot, from the Emerald Shores comes Diarmund of the Love Spot."

Next was the image of the golden armored Archer standing tall and arrogant with a sneer on his face, golden vortexes of light shining behind him as weapons predating their legend issued forth at his unspoken command. "King of Heroes proclaims he with little ceremony though those who comes before may offer different testimony. Gilgamesh of Uruk is the Archer of this War for the Holy Grail, pray this man does not break a nail."

Ayaka nearly choked on her own breath at that while the Caster quirked an eyebrow as his lips tilted up slightly in bemusement. It seemed that the Spirit in the Magic Mirror held less favor for the Golden Archer than it did most.

The smoke whirled and darkened as a gleam of red shone in the black abyss before being blown away to reveal the Berserker in all of his knightly glory. "Shadows and sin may attire the Berserker in chains of madness, but they hinder not my gaze through wind and darkness. From the shores of the Lake doth he hail, Sir Lancelot of Camelot has doth breached death's veil."

The scene shifted once more, of a young lady who carried in her hand a sword that though the Caster himself had never seen knew almost instantly as he had the previous Servants by that which made them distinct in the annals of history and legend both. "She who is the Saber is the King of Knights, and wielder of Excalibur… Here is Arturia Pendragon not at all as you pictured her."

The Caster, despite the overwhelming odds stacked against him, had the audacity, in Ayaka's opinion, to actually laugh at the Spirit in the Magic Mirror's remark. "Not even slightly! Makes me wonder how spot on we were of Merlin though… Thank you for your wondrous services as always."

"Master…" The Spirit of the Magic Mirror's face returned long enough to give a solemn bow before it and its ethereal smoke vanished, leaving naught but plain looking-glass within the golden frame. The Caster stood back in thought, hands setting about the motion of drawing forth a cigarette but, with another subtle glance towards Ayaka, kept the stub unlit. He stood a while in thought over the images the Spirit of the Magic Mirror had shown him, and the Heroic Spirits it named.

_Quite a cast of characters,_ he thought, _quite the cast indeed…_

"We're going to lose…"

"Hmm?" The Caster turned his gaze down towards his Master. "What makes you say that?"

"Didn't you see them?!" yelled Ayaka, startling the both of them for this was the first time either could recall her showing true emotion and not just any emotion either. She was afraid and she did not care to hide it. "You may have a chance against a few of them but against Gilgamesh?! Against King Arthur?! There's no way! You'll be less than nothing to them and they'll kill you sure as look at you and… and you'll die… just like…"

She looked down at the floor in silence, fists clenched tightly in her side. Though but a week had passed since she had summoned her Servant, she had come to actually care for the man that was more a father to her than her own flesh and blood had ever dared to be.

The Caster's hand beneath her chin made her look up into his eyes as he said with little preamble. "I do not doubt my own death in this War, Master. I could easily be slain by any one of those Servants and though I cannot promise you the Grail, I can promise you a happy ending to this War."

There it was again, that promise that she knew had to be a lie though her heart refused to believe it as such. "How… How can you promise such a thing? What do you have that makes you think that you can do such thing?"

"Well, to start, I have on me some faith, trust, and…" He reached into his pocket and pulled forth a small bag that shimmered with sparkles of golden specks. "A dash of pixie dust."

* * *

_"That's the real trouble with the world, too many people grow up. they forget. They patronize; they treat children as inferiors. I won't do that. I'll temper a story, yes. But I won't play down, and I won't patronize."_

* * *

The Saber had faced a lot of things both in her natural life and her current reincarnation as a Servant. The kind of things that would make lesser men huddle in a corner and cry, monsters both literal and figurative that could curdle the darkest of nightmares. And yet she never feared for her life more than at that very moment. Why?

Because Irisviel von Einzbern was driving.

God have mercy on the Saber's soul.

Thankfully, a means of stopping the deranged facsimile of automobile driving was presented in the form of a Servant standing in the midst of the road ahead. With a cry that was a might bit more high-pitched than she'd ever care to admit, the Saber managed to get her stand-in Master's attention and the car screeched to a halt mere feet away from the Servant Caster who stood with sketchbook and pen in hand in the midst of another piece of art.

He looked up and blinked in surprise. He chuckled as the pair of ladies got out of the car.

"You wouldn't happen to know a Mr. Toad would you? I've not seen as wild a ride as his before but you came close." He said, putting away his sketchbook into ether and dusting some speckles of gold from his shoulder.

Irisiviel tilted her head, wondering just who it was that the Caster was referring to while the Saber at her side appeared far from amused.

"What is your purpose for being here Caster?"

"Oh? Guessed my Class so easily? Well, hard not to at this point I suppose. I apologize for not introducing myself earlier at the pier but I'm afraid I was too far away to make merry with you lot and well, I had my Master to care for."

"Is your Master ill?" asked Irisviel.

"No more than any other child would be, attempting to stay up past her bedtime." The Caster said without much preamble as he glanced once more at his sketchbook and continued drawing, not missing the appalled look on either ladies' faces at the thought that a child was willingly taking part in the Holy Grail War. The Caster glanced at the page for a moment before sighing and closing the book and making use of his pen as a placeholder. "That being said, I have a proposition for you to take back to your Master, Your Majesty."

The Saber stiffened as Irisviel drew a sharp gasp of air. The Caster knew of the falsehood of their bond, so what else could he know to use against them? Then again, he was proving to be a rather pragmatic sort given his admittance of his Master's age and gender.

"What is it?"

"I, and by extension my Master, would like to make an allegiance with you until such a time as the Servants Archer, Assassin, and Berserker have been dealt with. I am willing to offer whatever services that I can provide so long as they don't result in the harming or killing my Master or myself."

The Saber's eyes narrowed the slightest bit. "Why do you not name Rider or Lancer? Are they already in allegiance with you? Besides that, you are behind the times, Caster. Assassin is already slain."

The Caster chuckled once more. "Sorry, it's just… the irony of you saying that to me… But back to the matter at hand, while I do not doubt in the prowess of Lancer or Rider, I have less doubt that you alone could defeat them both. As to Assassin, I'm afraid that rumors of his demise have been exaggerated."

"Even if what you say is true, you have given us little reason to believe you," said the Saber.

"Well, as a show of good faith, I can offer you this," said the Caster, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the small pouch of glimmering dust. He stepped forward but stopped as the Saber stood between him and Irisviel. "Really, if I intended to harm her, would I not have done so already?"

"Saber." Irisviel placed her hand gently upon the shoulder of the female Servant. "I think he's being sincere."

The Saber wondered if it was more Irisviel's faith in the Servant so much as her desire for a new "toy" that convinced the Einzbern of the Caster's sincerity. Either way, the ivory haired woman gladly accepted the pouch with a promise to relate the Caster's proposal to the Saber's true Master.

Irisviel opened the pouch slightly and gazed inside and saw naught but golden, glimmering particles of sand.

"I'm sure that you'll manage to convince your husband quite easily, Mrs. Emiya. Do be mindful of that pixie dust though and don't worry about contacting me, I'll call you." The Caster nodded with a smile as he opened his sketchbook once more and with one final flourish of strokes, completed the drawings within. Unlike before with the Magic Mirror, the pages tore free of their own accord and not one but several pages spun through the air in a miniature cyclone.

The triumphant calling of an elephant preceded that which the Caster had wrought with but artful strokes of the pen upon clean sheets of paper. A baby boy elephant, no less in size than any of his ilk, wore upon its brow a simple yellow clown's hat and upon his neck a red and yellow-lined clown's collar. While such decorations upon any animal might seem startling, these were but mice to the truly astounding feature of this particular pachyderm were his ears.

They were enormous, nearly twice the size of his body and then-some!

The Caster smiled and patted the young elephant on his head as the little fellow curled his trunk lightly around the man's arm in an elephantine version of a hug. "Hey there Dumbo, mind giving me a lift?"

Dumbo bugled once through his trunk and with a hearty laugh, the Caster sat astride the little elephant's back. The massive ears of the tiny elephant spread themselves wide, narrowing to bear an uncanny resemblance to the wings of a plane before suddenly—they were off! No, not on the road or even down the mountainous pass below but up into the air, into the clear night sky!

The little elephant once cruelly jeered but now forever cheered as Dumbo, was the ninth wonder of the World, the one and only Flying Elephant!

Looking back down at the two ladies, the Caster waved once in goodbye and together, he and his ride vanished into the open sky.

To say that either of the young ladies were stunned by this is akin to say that the sun is just tad warm.

Quite so true yet so much more to it than that.

The Saber's mouth was moving up and down but nary a sound came from it but a faint, almost unheard squeaking noise. Her eyes were wide and staring up into the sky with an intensity that would have made Irisviel question whether the Servant would ever blink again if the homunculus weren't in a similar state herself.

Similar but not precisely the same, for though the Saber seemed permanently caught in a gaping loop, Irisviel's own mouth was slowly closing in a wide, beaming smile. Her eyes, always rather bright, were like rubies with their glimmering intensity as she looked once more to the pouch in her hand. It was not until Kiritsugu's intervention that Irisviel had received something of an education and though the man had tried his best to avoid a certain genre of film it was already too late. One such session had resulted in her witness a trailer for an upcoming film and Irisviel's curiosity was spiked.

She had asked Kiritsugu of the then upcoming film and in a mere week's time to its release had all but had the infamous Magus Killer wrapped around her finger. One trip to the cinema later and what once was a mild curiosity had become an unquenchable thirst. A thirst for more examples of this media of modern man's entertainment had set itself deep in Irisviel and she wanted it quenched with a passion!

So what if Kiritsugu would not allow her the films she had desired, she'd just have to borrow some of her family's vast wealth to afford the entire collection herself and more besides!

One massive credit card bill and several hours worth of marathon watching, Irisviel had become an expert in the media and a perfect historian of a particular studio of film to an incredible degree. Such a high degree in fact that in the moment between realization of the pouch in her hand and the flying elephant, she had come to recognize the Caster for who he truly had been in life and was even more so in death.

At the Einzbern manor located in the forest near Fuyuki City, Kiritsugu Emiya felt the sudden urge to run and hide from the fast approaching woman-child that was formerly his wife. Back at the Einzbern manor in the heart of the Black Forest of Germany, Justabeicht von Einzbern felt frightened for his bank account and immediately checked for his wallet.

Unsurprisingly, it and all of his credit cards were missing.

Surprisingly, so too were his pants.

"Huh… that explains the draft…"

Meanwhile, the Saber, finally breaking free from her stupor, looked askance at the small pouch.

"Did he say that was pixie-yeep!" The Saber's hand, once outstretched to touch the pouch was immediately retracted and clutched tightly to her breast as she stared at the ivory skinned magus who had growled, actually _growled_, at her!

Irisviel blinked and appeared embarrassed by her reaction but still clutched the small bag of pixie dust for fear that it would be snatched away at the first opportunity by her spoilsport of a Servant. She turned towards the car before stopping and glancing down at the small pouch. She smiled and turned to the Saber.

"Would you mind driving the car back to the mansion for me Saber? I'm off to let Kiritsugu know we're going to be allies with Mister Dis—I mean, Caster!" Irisviel looked around shiftily as though her near slip would suddenly be caught but spying ears. The Saber felt her confusion, already quite high with the conundrum that is a flight-capable elephant, rising.

"But Irisviel… surely you don't mean to walk back?"

"Walk?" The ivory haired maiden giggled with delight as she took a pinch of powder in her fingers. "My dear Saber, I intend to fly!"

* * *

_"Faith I have in myself, in humanity, in the worthwhileness of the pursuits in entertainment for the masses. But wide awake, not blind faith, moves me."_

* * *

It was a one-sided standoff in this so-called Grail Dialogue. One sided in so much that one of the four gathered Servants were openly glaring at one in particular while the second was smiling jovially beside the man who, though not laughing quite as uproariously, appeared no less joyful. The third, and far more golden, of the four looked quite bored with the entire proceedings thus far.

"So what of you, Caster? What is it that you desire the Holy Grail for?"

The Caster's smile faded and he looked down into his cup with a small frown. He thought back to what he had left unfinished in life and then to what he had come to learn had occurred in his absence since.

He smiled and said, "Nothing. I am content with the life I have lived and the legacy I had left behind. I participate in this War solely for the sake of my Master whom I promised a happy ending, no matter the outcome of this war."

Across from the Caster, the Archer snorted in disdain. "Who are you to make such a claim, magician? You don't know the height of the mountain which you climb."

The Caster smiled and said, "Somehow, I can't believe that there are any heights to be scaled by a man who knows the secret of making dreams come true."

"Oho? Do tell." The Archer's eyebrow was raised alongside his curiosity. He leaned forward to better study the Caster that sat before him, foolishly disguised as a mage of the modern era as though such a thing would aid in hiding his identity from the King of Heroes. Not that the Archer had discovered it, he just had no interest in doing so.

The Caster nodded and took a sip of wine. "The special secret it seems to me is summarized in four C's. They are Curiosity, Courage, Confidence, and Constancy. And the greatest of all is Confidence. When you believe in a thing, believe in it all the way, implicitly and unquestionably. Such is what makes us Servants what we are does it not?"

The Archer did not deign to reply, to busy hiding his surprise at such wise words from a seemingly foolish looking Servant. When he was prepared for a rather scathing remark, he was not so when he was immediately shoved aside by the unstoppable force that was Irisviel.

"Kyaaah! I can't wait any longer!" She shoved her hands forward to the surprised Caster, holding out a small book. "Can I have your autograph please?"

The Caster blinked but bit smiled as he took out his pen. He admired the cover of the book upon which stood a mouse in a red robe and a coned wizard's cap.

"Well there's a familiar face…" said the Caster. For a moment, he remembered the words uttered by the Spirit in the Magic Mirror, of that which lay beneath the Holy Grail. _This gives me an idea…_

* * *

_"Life is composed of lights and shadows, and we would be untruthful, insincere, and saccharine if we tried to pretend there were no shadows. Most things are good, and they are the strongest things; but there are evil things too, and you are not doing a child a favor by trying to shield them from reality. The important thing is to teach a child that good can always triumph over evil…"_

* * *

For every light that is to shine, so too must there be shadows to darken. For heroes to combat against evil, there too must be villains to hinder them. Such is the way of life. Such is the way of all things in Creation. To every thing that has ever been, ever will be, and forever is there are those of greater, lesser, or equal to them. If the hero is strong of body, then the villain must be of a cunning mind. If the villain is inhumanly cruel, then the hero must possess a compassionate heart opened even to that which would sooner see it dead. If the light is bright as noonday sun, then the shadows are dark as moonless night. If the darkness must reign throughout the night unencumbered, then the dawn's light shall pierce through its veil and chase the shadows back from whence they came.

Such is the way of all things in Creation.

Such were all the things which the Caster himself had created.

He had made heroes. He had crafted villains. In his own words, the worst of them was the first of them, she who was a step-mother, once kind but driven to pride's wicked claws, and become that which she was on the inside on the out. Never did he try and recreate such perfectly cruel villainy. To all who followed, he gave to them each a weakness, never once surpassing the evil that wicked queen demonstrated to she whom she had once called "my beautiful little bird…"

But he had.

He just never knew the extent of it.

At least, he never admitted as such, even to himself.

Darkness had fallen over Fuyuki City, the midnight hour ringing its knells across the land, and there, further on beyond the temple in which a dragon arose, a new mountain had rose alongside the descending twilight. It was tall as all mountains are wanted to be, but it bore no life upon its blackened surface. It is tall and thin, a spire of stone piercing up into the underbelly of Heaven itself.

The twelfth hour had rung. That would be the end of it. That _should be_ the end of it.

But it wasn't.

The clock tower rung once more… For the thirteenth hour of the night…

And upon the mountainous peak, _He_ stirred.

It started slowly, a subtle shifting from mundane obsidian to flesh far darker in hue. The towering spear that was the mountain's peak unfolded into the wide wings as that which could be described as a devil arose from his slumber once more.

But that is not who this was.

A demon, a devil, a monster…

They are all _things_… Representations of man's imagination and fears and sins…

_He_ was no such mere _thing_.

_He…_ is Chernabog.

And _He_ is _Evil_.

The Devil of the Bald Mountain stretched his hand forth and his shadow followed his command. Wicked claws reached through the city and all those who had ever committed that which is "evil" shivered down to their bones but it was not they whom the Evil That Is Chernabog sought.

His darkness fell upon the dead, buried and quite forgotten by the living in this blackest of nights. His darkness spoke to them, his shadow _lied_ to them, and his evils _delighted_ them. For in his blackness there was that which the souls of the dead had forgotten in there slumber.

_Evil_ but because it was _Evil_… it was _LIFE_ for though a part of the whole that is Life, Evil is one of the greatest of them.

And the dead began to rise from their graves. Skeletal and fleshless wraiths, they rose like a ghastly tide into Chernabog's waiting clutches. He took them all, great large handfuls of them, and gathered them unto himself.

And the Evil That Is Chernabog _grew_.

His hand outstretched once more and they came to him next. The demons and the monsters and the devils, all that were representations of Evil answered to _He_ _Who_ _Is EVIL_. They came to him like lost children returning home to a welcoming embrace. They chattered and roared and fought and killed and danced with each other. Blood and flesh sprayed as fangs bit whilst claws sliced and the dead monstrosities of man's wicked imagination arose once more alive and ready to resume the Devil's Dance.

From on high, _He_ smiled and several ghastly spectators dropped dead at the sight of pleasure upon the face of the Devil of the Bald Mountain. His voided gaze drifted through the city once more and—there!

They who are _Dead Yet Alive_: the Servants of the Holy Grail.

The Conquering Rider came upon chariot of lightning to try and bring even a spark of light into this most unholy of nights, the Deranged Berserker lost amidst a sea of demonic kin that shared in the same baseless savagery, the Accursed Lancer's spear flying through hordes of hell spawns, and even the Golden Archer let loose the finest of his treasures.

Their efforts, great enough to repel most armies, succeeded where no other had ever done before.

They made the Evil That Is Chernabog _smile_ a second time.

Flames arose from the blackened pit that was once a mountain and the monsters, the demons, and the devils rose with them. Figures emerged from the fires, human in shape and they danced to the Devil's Song. There touch _burned _so hot that it was _freezing_ to the touch. They embraced them gladly, the flesh and bloodied monstrosities for they might not be of the same form but they were of the same maker.

And that maker was Chernabog.

The Lancer was the first to fall, as the flaming sirens descended like burning angels to embrace that which casted lust upon female eyes with but a solitary mark upon an otherwise perfect face. The Rider followed next, his oxen devoured and from the remains arose more of the monstrous ilk. They whom were gifted by a god became akin to that very god's wrath and the Rider did descend, dead long before he had hit the earth below. The Berserker came next, mad as any beast he slew, he was not so similarly blessed as they and for every limb he dismembered, for every head that flew through the air, more of them arose whole and eager to repeat the experience once more. As he had in life so too did in death fall once more into the darkness.

The Archer was the last and as he had boasted, the greatest of them. For of them all it was he who remained free from the vile touch of the demon hordes and in his rise to stand above them all, monsters and fellow Servants alike, he had committed himself to be eye-to-eye with _Evil_. Chernabog's eyes were upon the Archer and by arrogance or by fear the Archer met that hellish gaze and refused to release his eyes from it even as the Devil of the Bald Mountain's hands came down upon him.

Five of Seven Servants were slain, four of which were but mere moments away from the other's passing. So quickly were these acts accomplished that there was no time, no ceremony, for what was to follow. Chernabog's gaze turned sharply, narrowing upon the blackened visage that is his hellish face. His hand outstretched, his shadow sought, and in his hands did he touch upon that which lay within the breast of Irisviel von Einzbern.

And _pulled_.

The woman collapsed to the ground, alive still but less than what she was crafted to be. She had been meant to be a vessel for that which is the Holy Grail and in the deaths of all but two of the Servants she was to become that which she contained. She was meant to but could no longer for that which is the Holy Grail lay in another's hand.

_Chernabog's_.

The Devil of the Bald Mountain looked down upon the Holy Grail, a chalice of finest gold and most precious of gems, and saw within something that brought that which _should not be_. For there, within the heart of the Grail was that which proclaimed itself as All the World's Evils.

And it made The Evil That Is Chernabob _laugh._

That which had once been an Avenger and had in the loss of his brutal defeat become that which he imagined himself to be, was indeed evil. A great degree of evil the likes of which no man could gaze upon and not feel their very soul suffer for it but that's all that it was to the Devil of the Bald Mountain.

It is All of the World's Evil as conceived by _man_.

Chernabog… is not so limited. He is not so restrained by the boundaries of mankind's limits for even in the most black-hearted of villains there is only so much that such wickedness can conceive, can comprehend, can enact.

That which is called Angra Mainyu, that which is All the World's Evil… is _nothing_ to the likes of that which is _Evil_. Not the world's, no the universe, nor even the entirety of the multiverse.

Chernabog is _Evil._

And Evil is _Chernabog._

The Devil of the Bald Mountain laughed once more, and raised the Holy Grail high in toast to he whom gave him such delights and drank deeply from the cup All of the World's Evils.

No finer wine could ever touch the vile palette that is Evil's tongue.

And the Evil That Is Chernabog _grew_.

Once more did Chernabog smile and once more did his hand outstretch into the recesses of mankind ready to pull free from the buried earth all whom had died when—

A ring sounded.

The Devil of the Bald Mountain twitched. It was not the sound of the clock tower's bells for this was a sole and solitary sound. He glared down upon the miniscule city below for a moment's time before his hand outstretched once more.

And another ring sounded.

This time did the Evil That Is Chernabog flinch. This time did the demons, the monsters, and the devils grow quiet and still. This time did the flames of Hell begin to subside… For gone was the long stretch of night, gone was the midnight hours of deviltry and sin.

Another ring sounded.

The dawn was approaching and with it, came All That Is The Light.

For the Caster himself had created villains of all sorts. From the bellowing child to the majestic but since the Wicked Queen never did he try and recreate such perfectly cruel villainy. To all who followed, he gave to them each a weakness.

Chernabog, the greatest of them all, was no different.

For in him did the Caster instill a weakness to equal the Evil That Is Chernabog. For in the dawn would there be the Light, the _hope_ of a better tomorrow and the awakened _dreams_ of mankind's greatest treasure: its children. If Chernabog is the very manifestation of _Evil_ then it would be the Dawn's Light that would be that which is _Good_.

The dawn's light pierced through the thick veil of the night and the monstrous horde expired as ash upon the blackened mountain stone. The caught spirits of the dead, both the Heroic and the mundane, were as vanishing quicksilver, streaking back to their proper places of rest. The Holy Grail fell from limp fingers and floated in midair before shooting across the sky towards they whom had earned its graces, one a victor and the other a bearer for though neither knew it, theirs would be the last Servant standing in the light of a new day. Chernabog's wings spread wide once more before slowly encompassing flesh beneath hardy stone just as the sun arose fully on the horizon.

He thought himself victorious still, the Evil That Is Chernabog, for though the day was here soon would there be the night and like before, he would _reign_.

Such was not to be, even for that which is _Evil._

A single word was uttered, a name easily remembered even by those who know nothing of the legend, the _power_ behind. The Saber, with Excalibur in hand, and cursed wounds fully healed, raised her sword on high. The World reached through her and grasped ahold of its crystalized dream and did as all heroes do to that which is evil. Even if it cost every ounce of her power and her one true chance at attaining her heart's desire she would commit to this act that defines all heroes.

She would slay the monster.

* * *

"_All right, I'm corny. But I think there's just about a hundred-and-forty-million people in this country that are just as corny as I am._"

* * *

The Caster stood beneath a lamppost beside Ayaka Sajyou. Above them, huddled en masse was the flock of ravens and just beneath them was an elephant whose rather large ears were only now peeking upwards to see the aftermath of the Caster's final act.

Oh yes, this was the last of the Caster's magic and of the Caster himself.

His sketchbook lay empty and his pen dry and though he looked no less healthy than before, he was far more aged now, an old gentleman rather than the epitome of teenaged excitement that he had been.

Across from them, kneeling beside the unconscious form of his wife and the fading form of his Servant of the Sword, was Kiritsugu Emiya. In his hands he grasped the Holy Grail. Much like Ayaka, the man's emotionless façade was broken and he allowed tears to fall for in his hands did he grasp everything he had ever wanted and more.

And by no means was he referring to the Holy Grail.

He looked to the old man that the Caster had become, the man who had come to him in the darkness of the night, who had told him of the Grail's taint and whom had promised him the happily ever after that Kiritsugu deserved. The Caster smiled and inclined his head to the girl at his side. The girl that painfully reminded Kiritsugu of himself. The man nodded once.

Irisviel had once entertained the thought of a sibling for Illya, a dream of an aching heart she had confessed and nothing more.

Well, it looked like that heartfelt dream was to come true after all.

Ayaka looked up at her Caster. She had not known him before as he had been, even when the evidence was staring at her so blatantly in the face in the form of a magical mirror, flying elephants, and animated broomsticks. Her father, ever the epitome of mages, refused to cater to the ways of the mundane but her beloved elder sister refused to limit herself and had taken them both to the local theater one night. And again and again, for that same cinema began a trend of those animated films from the west.

Those were the happiest moments Ayaka had ever spent with her sister.

And she had nearly forgotten them.

"Why…?" Her voice was hoarse and she reached up to pull away her glasses. For the first time since the murder-suicide that had made her an orphan, did Ayaka look like the child that she was as she wept openly in front of her Servant.

The Caster smiled. "Because… I said that though I may not win you the Grail, I would grant you a happy ending…"

And he was gone and in a moment, so too was the Saber.

Ayaka sniffled and rubbed her eyes dry. "Thank you… Mr. Disney…"

* * *

**Through the next gazing of the Kaleidoscope...**

_The Descendant  
_

OR

_The Ride_

* * *

**Statistics:**

**Class:** Caster  
**Identity:** Walter Elias Disney  
**Basic Stats:**  
_Alignment:_ Lawful Good  
_Noble Phantasms: _A++_  
Strength:_ E  
_Mana:_ EX**  
_Endurance:_ E  
_Agility:_ E  
_Luck:_ A

**Class Skills:**_  
Item Construction: _EX*_  
Territory Creation:_ EX**

**Personal Skills:  
**_Animal Dialogue: _Unknown***_  
Charisma: _A  
_Eye for Art:_ EX_  
Knowledge of Respect & Harmony:_ B_  
Librarian of Stored Knowledge:_ A+++  
_Pioneer of the Stars:_ EX

* See The Stonecutter's Quill: That Which is Mightier than a Sword  
** See Tapestry of Dreams: A Great Big Beautiful Tomorrow  
*** See One Little Spark: Figments of the Imagination

**Noble Phantasms:**  
_The Stonecutter's Quill: That Which is Mightier than a Sword: _E (A+++ in conjunction with _One Little Spark_)  
_One Little Spark: Figments of the Imagination:_ E (A+++ in conjunction with _The Stonecutter's Quill_)  
_Tapestry of Dreams: A Great Big Beautiful Tomorrow:_ EX

Exposition:  
**_The Stonecutter's Quill: That Which is Mightier than a Sword:_** E (A+++ in conjunction with _One Little Spark_)_  
_Similar in kind to Hans Christian Anderson's _Marchen Meines Lebens_ insomuch that the abilities are similar though not quite the same. _The Stonecutter's Quill: That Which is Mightier than a Sword_ appears as nothing more than the very pen which Walter favored in life, the selfsame pen that first illustrated a mouse that became a cultural icon across the entirety of the world, the pen which first illustrated a multiple-themed amusement park, and which scripted many a re-telling of classic tales. Unfortunately, the Quill is considerably useless on its own and can only be used to its fullest potential when in conjunction with _One Little Spark: Figments of the Imagination_.

**_One Little Spark: Figments of the Imagination: _**E (A+++ in conjunction with _The Stonecutter's Quill_)  
A unique Noble Phantasm insomuch that it _must_ be used in conjunction with another in order for it to function at all. _C_ontrary to the name, _One Little Spark: Figments of the Imagination_ is in actuality Walter's sketchbook upon which he had drawn many memorable characters and with the power of both it and the Quill, can bring those selfsame characters to life, but only those from when Walter himself was alive. The only limit is both the amount of "effort" placed upon the recreation and the amount of paper/ink that Walter requires. For example, if he were to try and recreate an item, such as a magic mirror, he'd need but a single sheet of paper but if he were to try and recreate a _hero _or a _villain_… he'd need a sheaf's worth. The notebook in itself is not unlimited in its quantity of paper as well and so Walter must be sparing with how much he uses for though a recreation may be destroyed or dismissed for later use, the page(s) used remain filled regardless.

**_Tapestry of Dreams: A Great Big Beautiful Tomorrow:_** EX_  
_Similar in nature to a Reality Marble, _Tapestry of Dreams_ is a Noble Phantasm that is both Walter's greatest strength and his greatest weakness. Aside from being a massive repository of mana created from the dreams and wishes of the children who were inspired by the tales of "Disney", the Tapestry of Dreams allows Walter to perfectly recreate his own dreams and wishes upon the world around him. However, in order to activate this Noble Phantasm, Walter must "claim" the land that he wishes to use the Tapestry upon, a process that takes no less than a single day. Following this, he must also incant a simple aria, "Here you leave today and enter the world of yesterday, tomorrow, and fantasy."

Contrary to _The Stonecutter's Quill _& _One Little Spark,_ the Tapestry of Dreams can recreate anything that is under the name of "Disney", and as such anything and everything that is associated with the name is there for Walter to recreate including but certainly not limited to his wishes and dreams, no matter how farfetched or impossible they may seem. However, once created, Walter no longer has any means of altering the Tapestry until the following day and must stick to the "theme" of the Tapestry. For example, if he were to alter a world of tomorrow, he'd have to adhere to the theme of a futuristic setting. It should also be noted that should the Tapestry of Dreams be destroyed, via the destruction of the created world, Walter shall have no means of procuring mana for himself save through his Master, thus severely limiting the powers of his remaining Noble Phantasms.


End file.
